My Pillow Pulls My Hair

My pillow pulls my hair.
“I have to go to work.”
As soon as I say it, he firms up his grip.

He knows what’s waiting for me.
“Room for cream."
“Double cup it.”
“A large with skim milk and non-fat whip.”
He’s trying to protect me.

Big and fat and white.
He could be running the company.

Why does he have to remind me
That I have two college degrees?
“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”
Don’t tell me that I could do better.
“I know that.”

So why don’t I?
Because I make decent money?
Because we're moving soon anyway?
Because I’m focusing on other things in life right now?
Getting my legs under this new marriage.
Figuring out what I really want to do.
Finding my narrative voice.

With daily interruptions by my Sugar Daddy
Who hurts me.
Weakens me.
Keeps me living in fear.
Keeps me hating my life
For 40 hours every week.

My heart sinks into my mattress.
I guess I’ll just have to go to work without it.
And without my hair, too.
I pull hard to get away.
He takes a little more every time,
It’s starting to show.

“Sorry dear.” My alarm woke her up.
It’s 2:35am.
Assholes need coffee.