I’ve learned deceptiveness since he moved in:
How to distract him from a brutal rage or try
To trick his jealous need for all of my
Attention — yet defend him when I grin
Contentedly for loved-ones who suspect
His secret violence; to take the blame
For something that I’ve done or some neglect
That sets him off, and hide the sticky shame
I feel for letting him destroy my life.
And while it never stops confounding me
To realize that it’s true I am his wife,
There’s one thing that I face with honesty: