Guillotine

Something I wrote a couple years back, spawned from diving to deep into something.

Just deserted, left so helpless
Insects eat away my filth.
You don’t want me, no. You don’t want me to live.

Placed upon me I can’t love you
Not allowed to decide my fate.
Burden forced upon me
A f*****g product of rape?!

Please don’t find me. Don’t look like me.
You must trust me. It’s not a matter of taste.

Lie awake, tears in eyes. They’re the same colour as yours. 
He’s not around any more and religion is a farce.
Another statistic, broken with it, “free from her own choice”
Still had no say. As I lay awake. Afraid of the day.

Don’t find me, don’t look like men.
This is not a matter of taste.

Author's Note

Ignore grammar problems.

Reviews

[Matching Socks]

This really kicked me in the gut.
Children born of violent deeds, it's not uncommon in many parts of the world.
But life is life and the child must grow and let go of this burden.
Good piece, hits some strong chords.

[Yumaz]

The pain is tangible. The first couplet is a great hook. Thanks.