REPUDIATE

Sometimes it's differcult being a child...

Growing up in a house of egg shells

glass cracked walls among the smashed reflections,

kept her mind in a book for protection;

dried up love from the mistake of conception.

Messenger from day one, between brick and bomb,

recoiled into the blade that kept her sane from then on,

the weeping skin, crisp crimson from within,

eyes of charcoal tears from cheek to chin.

Older and wiser than whom she lived with,

yet wronged so many times

as her crave for comfort left her worn to the bone

of pelvis and hips combined.

She kept that book and in it, her mind

until the cover was turned and the pages revised

by preying eyes, spawn from the devil

and that was the end of her ink projection.

Time grew angry and she grew alone,

asking if she'd ever find "home",

for her heart was left broken; tattered and worn,

to the point of giving up on it all.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

The subject of this offering must have some form of PTSD. The sheer survival in such an environment is a triumph. If this story is true, only counseling and medication and tenacity can help. A disturbing story well told.