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I was always functional to him, like the way a paint brush is functional to an artist.  It only serves a purpose.

My purpose was to clean, cook and care for our babies, be intimate when commanded and disappear when his drinking buddies came to our house.

He never saw me!

He never saw how I loved to have my hand held and kissed.

He never saw how I loved flowers, just simple ones, picked from nature.

He never saw me when I would wear a dress on a Saturday night in the hope he would take me dancing.

He never understood how tender my heart is and how easy I cry.

He never understood how my mind was hungry for understanding all life's mysteries.

He never understood how I loved to sing songs from the radio, even if I didn't know all the words.

He thought I wasted my time reading books and writing poetry.  He never understood my fascination with the sunrise or how sitting by the ocean recharged my soul.

He never understood how I loved to brush the girls hair when they were little and tell them how beautiful they were or how I played games with the boys because he never did.

He never understood the great sadness that followed me everywhere I went.

I was a book that he never wanted to read.  Maybe the inside of my soul was like another language that he couldn't or didn't want to understand.

I was invisible. 

Then one  day I asked him for a divorce and he saw me.

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