March 25, 2011
I want to talk about a young girl,
her light blonde curls hugging her delicate heart shaped face.

I want to show you the bruises
that line her arms, and
the hatred that lines her heart.

I want you to feel the fear

that strangled her when she heard the pound on her door.

I want you to feel the soft brown
teddy bear she clutched to her heart.

I want your eyes to shut
as tight as hers did when
monster ripped open her door.

I want you to hear his angry shouts
that echoed inside the empty
caverns within her.

I want you to listen to her soft pleas
how they dripped out gently
yet choked her as his eyes darken.

I want your jaw to snap as her did
as his fists pounded into her,
as her final baby tooth was gone.

I want your neck to feel his cold hands
as she did when they
snaked around her neck,
know the pleasure he felt
when her warm blood stopped flowing.

I want you to know about this thief,
who stole this girl’s comfort.

I want you to taste the rivers,
the ones stained deep red,
see how they ran down her body,
and pooled at her toes.

I want you to visualize colors,
the blacks and the blues,
how they were imprinted on her body,
and were burned in her memory.

I want you to understand love,
and how scarce it can be.

I want you to know death,
and know how relieving it can sound.

I want you to recognize lies,
how easily “nothing happened”
falls from fear-sealed lips.

I want to talk about voice,
and how easily yours can be taken away.

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