I sit in my chair crying silent tears,
Flinching.
Everytime she speaks, I wince.
Again, I am braced for it.
Yet I do not see it coming,
Flying.
I am shoved from my chair, which clatters to the floor.
Pain flies through my body, which shakes in fear.
I lie there on the cold kitchen tiles,
Hurting.
I know I will have a bruise later.
It will hurt to move, as if my bones are slowly breaking.
I know this because it is all familiar,
Remembering.
I expect her to kick me, maybe throw me, as she has before,
It will hurt in the moment, but it doesn't matter.
She does not, just yells harsh words at me, verbal abuse instead.
Fearing.
As she leaves, I sit up, my arm sore from my landing,
I am too afraid to stand, but I finally do, sobbing quietly.
And eventually, it will happen all over again.