It’s all there
in your pale eyes,
glowing ghostly
from your nightlike skin.
It’s all there –
your empty stare,
your hardset lips
(so otherwise lush).
In your scars,
you are a thing –
possessed – not a
person to be asked.
The harm done
to you will last
generations
into centuries.
from the series violations
Sunday, February 27, 2011
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1 comments:
Cheri
The rawness of your poetry blends wonderfully with your intent of making us think!
Write on, dear one, write on!
MariJo Moore
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