‘The same’ by Anonymous

It’s always the same.

Every morning I wake up, terrified.

Terrified that today will be another bad day at work.

Not for me though. For him. He always has bad days at work.

He works- It’s not important. What is important is that his manager is a tool and won’t leave him alone. Always the same. So he doesn’t leave me alone.

He comes home in a fuss, dumps his things over the hallway for me to clean up, and quickly he finds something he isn’t happy about. He always finds something he isn’t happy about. Always. But it doesn’t matter what it is, the reaction is always the same.




He shouts and yells and huffs off in a flump. And that’s about it.


I’m lying to you. That is not about it. Never is. I wish it was.

He lies next to me in his lounging chair, while I sit in my coffin. I have to get up early to do half the housework in the house, because he always makes a mess of things before he goes to bed. Otherwise there’s more shouting and more yelling. It’s always the same.

I haven’t told you the worst part. When we go to bed, he always talks to me about how beautiful I am, how attractive I am, how my child is going to be so beautiful, how I will be such a good mother, etcetera. Finishing with I love you.

That’s not what the mark on the side of my face tells me.