A Voice
The truth I hold took years to unfold, locked up and never told. Now I speak, for I am done being weak. I think back to when it happened, that awful day The day he took "it" away.
To this day I feel him, his tight grip on my wrists the pressure of his body, as I tried to resist.
My heart was a two ton brick in my fist That kept me pinned to the exact spot on the ground he wanted me to be in. Holding back panicked breaths like other kids held stuffed animals Sinister smiling eyes, venom spit splashed across my limbs. Years later my sheets are still soaked, trembling with the sound of my own frozen voice.
Wandering the streets, giving myself to men with sheets. Crying while we fuck, gasping for air the more they struck. If I didn't say no, then maybe I could have some control. I gave myself for free, it was him that broke me. No respect for myself, no metal to place on a shelf. Falling down to dirt, clothes stained, bloody skirt. The cold making me shiver, drinking vodka and damaging my liver. Why should I care about my life? Here I go carving myself with a knife. Blood dripping down my thigh, hatred fills me like a high. I am not dead, just hanging by a thread. Pound my body, until my tears turn red.
All numb, can't feel a thing I can finally believe for a second... Their hands aren't his.
I did survive this life, I have now retired my knife. Scars still there, people look at them and stare. Smiling to all, putting my hands out to break my fall. I would like to share my voice, it's up to me to make that choice.
