His name T.S.A with the wick of a lion in the forest
The son of a prick , The woodpecker with a crest
Pecking the silver shores of my womanhood in my treasured garden
Labia cracked, bleeding and stiff like a cardboard downtrodden
I never knew innocence until he took my scent
Slowly and coyly he led me to my death row like a convict
Against my will, he took me in and buried me in ramen
I begged and wailed, he never wavered ;exploring and exploiting
Riding and pounding with the rigours of a bounty hunter
Struggling and twisting, my strength failed me
Cowardice chirped in my ears as he stripped my dignity
Leaving me with proof of who I was with my virginity
My body subdued and left like a blank sheet tainted with red wine and ink
With pain sketched on the edges; battered , bruised and broken
Fear rippling like lightening in the core of my spine
The sight of bats became my wishing star
Torture pried all over with bites sunk in blood stained scarlet sheets
The void as wide as the space between life and death
Broken into pieces with no pieces to assemble
I stare into open space, frozen in time
Calling for death, incanting his ode
My body is alien to me with patches of a demon’s fingerprint
No soap could wash away the flashing images flooding in paint
Stuck forever on my forehead; there for the world to see and mock
At every sound of footsteps, touch of your kind in hell
The cape of the scared crow caw in me withdraws into its shell
Physicans applied oil and ointments
But it never seemed to fade
Of what use is a roaming corpse?
Of what use is a quill feather pen without blood ink?
Of what use is a scarred soul without healing?
Of what use is a stripped rag that has been rejected by its peers?
Tagged with a stage name
Ripped, raped, rigged and dumped
In the trash can and left to rot
Now I run from you and your kind.
Class of ’18.