Sunday, 13 November 2016

Poetic Hurt... Please Know Your Worth


I am a victim to another
mans whims;

Not my father,
not my brother,
someone that I thought
was a lover.

Turned out that he was a fighter,
not the one in a cage, 
but a woman wrestler,
who puts women in submissions
to make them his slave.

He treats her,
then beats her,
but never wants to leave her,
she wants to run,
but has the key to her sneakers.

He would ask harsh,
"Make me tea"
she complies,
brings the cup,
with a sour face,
throws it on her clothes
saying "it's too sweet"
she's a champion wife,
but will never know because
of how much she has been defeated.

He is always over her phone,
putting it on loud speaker
making sure it's not a male patterned tone,
she once spoke to her father,
he assumed it was another,
for a month he had locked her in his home,
forcing her to do things,
her body did not condone,
every other day he would become a sadist
and break a different bone,
no doctor call, wolverine training,
she learned how to heal herself on her own.

Physical pain she became immune,
emotionally she was sick,
every time she was under his hand,
she prayed
"let this be the last hit,
so my life can end because
this is not the way I want to live"

He would demand,
she would give him his
wishes at his command,
rub my feet, if you don't
find it in your face,
and give you the physical meaning
of being beneath...

No... I want you to rise on top,
it's easier written and read,
I go to bed wishing my spirit
was next to you instead,
not this demon spawn from hell 
he puts in your world and head...

Fear is what he feeds off,
he likes the taste of tear drops,
he will drink them by the pint,
until you hit him with that glass so he stops.

It seems local authority
can only do so much,
you can put him in a cell,
but when he pleads
for the guilty fine
and
if you run...
will be angry
and
go on the hunt,
it's like the authority wait for
the worst case scenario
like finding the victim
by a riverfront;

A.B.H is a lower play,
they can't call G.B.H,
until there's a open wound,
not an open graze on her face,
so he can get a sentence drop,
even if he puts an organ out of place. 

I could only ask god,
"protect them, give them sense
they've been attacked so much,
can you give them some extra defense?"

I can put my hands together,
but the fate is truly in yours,
remember you
hold the key to life,
let no man trap you
behind the doors,
keeping you doing chores,
washing his draws,
cleaning your stains
off the floors,
if help is not given
from the above or earthly laws,
you take it into your hands made of swords.

2 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Thanks man, your wishes will be added to mine for the women I wish to find freedom. peace.

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