The roses,
I got the thorns.
The candles,
I got burnt.
The virgin’s blood,
mine bled from the heart.

You took without asking,
to you, my no meant maybe.
You left me with a fuck you
as you spat at my disgrace.

I never said yes,
I screamed no.
It was never a challenge,
I was a girl,
you were a man.

You don’t know my name,
yet your face is inscribed in my every nightmare,
my every panic attack,
Your touch,
mutilated my being,
like a knife,
carving me from the inside.

And yet you walk free,
as I stay in the imprisonment you left me in.

Photo Credit: florbelas fotographix Flickr via Compfight cc

Natasha Alexander

Writer, always Wife and Mother first. Perfect is overrated, I am flawed and yet loved. Now that I don’t chase perfection, I can chase my dreams. I have completed a "Write a Novel" course in 2015 through S.A. Writers’ College and passed with a distinction. I also completed the Copy-Editing and Proof-reading course through them in March 2016. My first Manuscript of 60 000 words has been written and currently seeking a publisher. I have been writing poetry since I was 14 and the reason/inspiration behind all my writing is a stand against women abuse. It is a cause that I hold close to heart. Something that started as an outlet for feelings too ghastly to speak about has turned into my passion.

One Comment
  1. My Inner Chick

    ~~~And yet you walk free,
    as I stay in the imprisonment you left me in.

    This is a “Wow.”

    Imprisoned forever…., yet the abusers walk free. Ghastly. Appalling. Unacceptable.

Write a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *