This piece is dedicated to the abused women whose stories I have witnessed before. Minimum punctuation, no capitalization, no attempt at rhyming, just letting the words rush over you, getting inside the head of an abused woman. I could be Maria, Nuha, Rahma, Nassine or Jane right this moment. It is me toying with the idea of how an abused woman feels. My view of her anguished pain felt like a salted fish begging to die a second time and as she dies, the abuser catches the eyes of an unknown hatred and how she had become an abused monster herself. Thanks Bing images for the picture used in this humble work.

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