I don’t have a voice. I was stripped of it the day I stepped into your life and became your partner. I would say the day I stepped into our home but then I just remembered, like you have told me over and over again, that it is your house.
I left the bags of my person at the doors. You ushered me in, promising to bring the bags in after me and help me take them to our room, only for you to throw them away. The bags that had in them my career, whatever freedom I had left, my voice, my intelligence and my smile.
Every idea of what I can do (since it’s clear I have to pick my career or pick my marriage) has been shut down. I, the person who gives good ideas to people on business and investment, yet every idea I bring to you is stupid or does not make sense.
Can I talk? No, that’s rude and I have joined bad gangs of feminists. Sex is poor, I dare not talk for the fear of being accused of promiscuity again as it happened the last time. Communication is poor but hey, all my talks are petty.
I am everything that’s bad yet, you still fear for this undesirable person when old friends reach out. It doesn’t matter though, every male I have ever known all my life is a boyfriend that taught me to ask for more during sex so, I have to delete them.
I held up strong through all of that, even when everyday was a threat of another wife or throwing me out (that’s monies the times you did throw me out without clothes, sometimes in the middle of the night).
And now you dare come here saying what?
This is the threat you continued to hand me, I have given it to you on a platter of gold and I have moved on. I can wish you things and those things would go with you forever haunting you but I will look to the most high and hope that the next person who meets you sees through your mask of religion before they fall into the trap I fell into and systematically cut me off my support system before making me a slave in a home that should have been mine.
