Nick turned five today, he hid behind a door in the hallway and jumped out as I walked by, laughing.

I get scared when people or things jump out at me. Sure everyone does, but I really hate it like the smell of urine left unflushed in the toilet.

That smells like love,

The kind of love that turns warmth into a fire,

The kind of fire that burns homes down

in the California wilderness.

He used to come home late at night and

piss on the side of the bed

whispering sentences of whiskey into my ear. “Let’s Fuck”

“No”

Mad, Rage, Rape,

No, not rape,

never rape.

I was asking for it.

I should have been congested

towards the smell of perfume I haven’t bought.

I should be already wet

when waking to a familiar stranger pinning me to the mattress.

I should smile

when he whips me

time after time

with that wired coat hanger.

I, I, I,

I work three jobs

to put scrambled eggs and grilled cheese on to the paper plates of my children,

to put amber bottles in the hands of my husband. But he tries too,

filling out applications of ill-intent in the late hours of the night.

That’s love.

Playing Hide-and-Seek,

hiding behind doors,

jumping out at me

knocking me unconscious

with a tap to the jaw.

Mama says these games aren’t healthy,

that black eyes and bruises come from

villains, bad guys.

Mama can’t you see that this is what makes me beautiful?

These shades of purple are tattoos

the shapes of paper hearts.

He loves me,

even if he doesn’t know it yet.