Oxidized beds and bloody floors

Blue robes with white walls

Fluorescent lights peaking at the corner of your blue eyes

The purple bruise on her face said it all

And although her second daughter was coming, she knew she couldn’t do this anymore

She clasped her chipped nails into his veiny arms

Imagining every single time he could hurt her rosy cheeked child

Like the time her legs were covered in bright red and she was in a coral wheelchair for three days

Her hands discolored from fighting back

Her neck deformed from the tightness of his grip

But in a country where male chauvinist is a must

Her teary honey eyes do not count

This is where her heartbeat lingers

Between the musty hospital sheets which are soiled by silent fidgets

Between his gnarly hands like worn out wood

Bringing her youngest baby girl into a world where crushed ribs are a normality

A world where I love you’s are replaced by shattered glasses and loud screeches

A world where 7ams with chai lattes are swapped by a haggard visage

And traces of her scarred, gory body are hidden

“He’s a ticking bomb” she says with a burden sight

And as she lays her liquid skin with faded x’s onto his brawny chest

She mentally takes note to teach the newborn the escape route of the household