He said he'd never let me leave, holding my throat in the grip of his rage.
He said I'd never make it out the door.
He said I was stupid, worthless and could never make it on my own.
He said I needed him to live, to survive.
He said many things that night.
But he lied.
My throat has healed and all I see now is my shackled past in the rear view mirror.
Thanks for the prompt Sis Saba! I'm finally getting my poetry instincts back :-)
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