I stopped writing about my pain.
Started writing about fairy tales and bumblebees.
I'm wrecked. Broken.To these distractions I cleave.
Let me breathe. Up my nose, in my veins
just let it circulate through.
I don't try to tell you how to live your life now..
These eyes have seen things unexplained.
Felt pellets of hatred tossed at my brain.
Words of disdain poured on me like rain.
Battlefield of the mind? Naw this was another kind of game.
He had cold unmanicured hands and talked with a lisp.
To not speak about the smell I'd be remiss.
Lost in translation, my body reacted,
so I used the bird clock on the wall as a much needed distraction.
He moved as a chisel sculpting his master piece.
Human clay my body became as he chipped away at me.
He drifted into a wave of urgency.
Ignored my woman parts. He just wanted release.
I felt diseased. I became a disgusted fool.
Used as tool. Did I mention he drooled?
Related his old self to an under age girl.
So you thought you knew but you had no idea.
Welcome to my world.
Share This Poem