Punching Bag

Abusive punches fall like rain,
never stopping or letting up.
I ache.

One after another they take
their turn assailing me with fists.
I hurt.

My silence taken for consent,
this is not the life I would choose.
I yearn.

Blows send me sprawling to the floor,
but I bounce back up, defiant.
I stand.

Let’s see them try and keep me down,
I refuse to yield to their strikes.
I’m proud.

You can’t hurt that which cannot feel,
I’m numb to your constant abuse.
I win.

---

The punching bag was built to hit,
but does that mean it does not feel?
It does.

The victims of abuse may not
have a voice to raise in protest.
They count.



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24 lines / 119 words
Form: Synchronicity  
Prompt:
** Image ID #2156994 Unavailable **

Originally written for "Invalid Item"  and "I Write in 2018" .