Trapped In The Margins

I became accustomed to violence being a language of love that I shuddered at the thought of anything else.
A finger pointed in my face casting blame like a spell from a fairy tale.
A voice that sounded sweeter than molasses became grating like moving styrofoam around boxes.
The hand that held mine so lightly was suddenly around my neck.
Grasping for air, I saw the look in the eyes that were once like eating ice cream on a warm Summer day.
Those eyes became overcast like the day of the wildfires.
A darkness I was unfamiliar with began to cloud my vision.
Saving my life out of instinct, I began to fight back. Hitting and clawing my way out of oblivion.
The air never felt so sweet.
I promised myself to never return to that bleak corner of Hunt’s Point.
I left a part of myself there that day. A part I never want to retrieve.
My phone rang days later and I answered out of instinct – damn my reflexes.
It was a video call. A face that I never wanted to see again called to apologize.
Acting like a therapist, I consoled and made the situation seem lighter than it was.
Those eyes were so full of hatred. A desire to see me burn.
A desire to see me take my last breath.
I snapped back to the moment, overcome with dread.
At the corner of some random New York City street, I declared myself free.
I ended the call, blocked, and deleted every ounce of their existence.