Between his screaming, and the baby’s,
How am I supposed to hear my own thoughts?
He is pacing back and forth in front of us, bleeding rage.
I wrap the baby in my arms, ready to shield her with my body
In case he throws anything else our way.
Between the computer screen, and the sofa, and the mess,
My brain is nearly saturated with his voice.
If I wasn’t so stupid, this wouldn’t have happened.
It’s all my fault, again; I’ve ruined everything, again–
And I’m almost inclined to believe him.
My eyes move down the screen, and back up at him,
Proclaiming the sermon he’s been preaching for years–
That I’m stupid, that it’s all my fault, but
The screen says that I have the highest grade in my class, and
My teacher left a comment calling me a genius.
I look up at him, and down at the screen, repeatedly,
Rocking the baby, saying nothing,
Remembering that I am not dumb,
And that I owe my daughter a better example of love
Than this nightmare that we have become.
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