Untitled

The following poem is from the section, "Love Hurts" of She Wanted A Love Poem, a collection of poems.

Untitled

She struck him
Over and over
Again, a feral
Cry escaping
Soft lips.

As she battered
And bruised him,
She did not see
Him.

She saw her father
Striking her mother
Because she burnt
Her slice of toast.

She saw her uncle
Slipping his rough
Hands across her
Soft skin to her
Hidden places.

She saw her mother,
Bloodied on the
Kitchen floor,
Weak.

She saw herself,
Trapped under
Her uncle's large body,
Helpless.

Then, and only then,
Did she see him,
Now bloody and
Bruised, scratched
and unconscious.
Broken.

Seeing him lying there
Broke her, she looked
At her bloody hands,
His blood on her nails,
On her knuckles.

He never struck her
Back.

She fell to her knees,
Cradling him in
Her arms, from the
Depths of her being
A wail came.

She cried for him,
The man she loved,
The man who loved her,
The man who would
Never leave, even
When she became
A monster

She cried for him
To forgive her.

To get your copy
of this collection
of poems,
click here.

His Name Was Carl

His name was Carl.

A bear of a man

Who possessed a

Jolly laugh that

Vibrated throughout

A room.

His name was Carl.

Whenever he saw me,

He would smile,

The kind of smile

That lit up the room

And the dark corners

Of my life.

His name was Carl.

He would laugh

At my jokes,

No one laughed

When I told jokes,

Not even my parents

But he did.

His name was Carl.

We would play together,

Tossing a ball around,

Building and destroying

Things. I told him

My secrets as I had

No one else to tell.

His name was Carl.

He was thirty and

I was ten and yet

I never thought that

Anything was wrong.

He was my friend,

My only friend.

His name was Carl.

One day, our friendship

Took an unexpected turn.

He made requests that

Made me uncomfortable

But he's my friend so

I did what he requested.

His name was Carl.

He would watch me

Play with toys he bought me.

He insisted I played naked.

It was only a matter

Of time before

He touched my bare skin.

His name was Carl.

Eventually, he did more

Than touch, his big hands

Groping and pawing at

My pre-pubescent body.

I prayed for someone to notice,

For someone to say

That this was wrong.

His name was Carl.

He would appear

At my school,

At my house,

Waiting to whisk me

Away to his hidden places

And I wondered if anyone

Noticed.

His name was Carl.

No one noticed,

No one followed,

No one said that

This was wrong,

No one came to save me,

So I decided

To save myself.

His name was Carl.

Was not is,

Never will it be is

And all you need

To know is

His name was Carl.

Santuary

She was beautiful
To him.

Despite the blackened cheek,
The eye swollen shut,
The once gaping wound
Now stitched up,
She was beautiful.

To him,
She was an angel,
A broken angel,
But an angel nevertheless,
And her tears was
His kryptonite, his weakness.

Every time the Devil
Fought with her,
She would find sanctuary
On his couch.

Staying long enough to
Heal her wounds but
Never long enough
To heal her heart
And strengthen her spirit.

He promised himself that
One day, he won't let her go,
He won't let her
Return to the Devil,
But not today.

Today, he will give her
Sanctuary, a place
To rest her head
A shoulder to lean on,
An ear to listen.

Today, he will keep her safe
From the Devil,
From herself.

In him,
She will always
Find Sanctuary.

A Plastic Smile - She Wanted A Love Poem

The following poem is from the section, "Love Hurts" of She Wanted A Love Poem, a collection of poems.

A Plastic Smile

They sat on the hill
Overlooking their little town
Under the night sky,
One she no longer
Tried to guess how old
It was.

Under shiny stars
And a moon not yet full,
He took her hands
And professed his love,
Out of his pocket
He pulled out a velvet box
And popped it open.

Within sat a ring
With a solitary diamond
That shone brighter
Than the sun.
He waited for an answer
For the answer
He wanted to hear
And she gave it to him.

His happiness was potent
And he embraced her
Forgetting that her ribs
Were still bruised from
The last time he hit her.
The tears she shed
Out of pain, he mistook
For tears of happiness.

He quickly placed the ring
On her finger still
Black and blue from when
He slammed her hand
In the doorway
As she tried to escape
Him and the brutality
He was about to
Rain down on her.

Although she was in pain,
She plastered on her face her
Signature plastic smile.
A sense of relief washed over her,
He had not planned to kill her
On this hill.

As they walked back
To the car, he spoke
Non stop about the wedding
Their marriage,
Soon enough children,
Their life together,
And she smiled her plastic smile.

As they drove back down
The hill, he smile melted
As everything began
To sink in.

Their life together.
The thought sank deeper
And deeper until it tripped
Her survival instinct,
Her need to survive
At all costs.

Quietly, she undid
Her seatbelt and waited
For the right moment.
She didn't have to
Wait long.

As they rounded a corner
With a sheer cliff edge
At the driver's side,
She attacked, pushing
The steering wheel
Completely to the cliff.

He was taken by surprise
And it was too late for him
To undo the lock. And as
He tried to regain control
She opened the door
And rolled out.

She kept rolling
Until she came to a stop
In the middle of the road.

She laid there,
Looking up at the stars
And the moon,
Listening to her fiance's car
Fall down the hill.

She did not move
Until she could no longer
Hear the car falling,
Only then did she went
To look at the damage.

The car had caught
On fire. By morning
It would be nothing
But charred remains.

The scene was so familiar,
In this same spot,
Her whole family had died
And she had survived.
The exact same way,
The only difference between
Then and now was
She didn't have that guilt
Of surviving when everyone
She loved had perished.

This time around,
She understood that she
Had a chance of a life
Worth living, one that
Didn't include being
Someone's punching bag.

She limped away from
The scene of the "accident",
Making her way away
From the town she called home
For far too long.

With each step,
She felt lighter.
With each step,
A smile grew brighter,
Become more genuine.
With each step,
A plan began to form
On how she was going to live.

With each step,
She vowed never to wear
A plastic smile.

To get your copy
of this collection
of poems,
click here.

Rebecca

I needed a phone.

My car had broken down
For the umpteenth time,
My cell phone battery had died
And I found myself
In a part of town
I've never stepped foot in.

I needed a phone
To call my boyfriend
To pick me up,
And in the morning,
I would call a tow truck
To deal with my car.

I made my way
Around the corner
To a dive bar
With the intention
Of going and
Getting out with the quickness.

When I stepped in
I realized that this
Was not your typical bar.
For one the only man present
Was the bartender
But a few of the patrons
Could pass for men.

As I stood by the bar,
Waiting for the bartender
To come my way,
A huge woman appeared.

She had more swagger
Than Kanye West
On a good day
And her rap was
No different from that
Of the guys on the corner.

In a curt, "don't mess with me" tone,
I informed her that
I was not interested,
I was straight,
I had a man.

She stepped into
My space,
My personal space,
My "you really in my space?" space,
My "I will knock your ass out!" space.

She continued to say
That she could do things
That no man can do
For a woman.

Clenching my fist,
I stepped back,
Saying "Excuse me"
Through gritted teeth.

I did an about turn
And made my way to the exit.
I was not about to start
A fight on foreign ground,
Not knowing my opponent
Or if she had backup.

As I stepped out,
I felt the cool night air
But became very aware
Of the warmth coming
From someone behind me.

She had followed me out.

Not wanting to continue
The "conversation",
I walked quickly to my car.

Just as I reached for
The door handle
She grabbed me.

She pinned me to the hood,
Using one hand,
She hiked up my skirt,
She ripped away my panties.

Roughly, she pried open my legs,
Then pinned them in place,
Leaving me immobile,
Then she went in.

Licking and sucking,
Dipping and nipping.
My body responded
Despite my protests,
My trying to strike her,
Hit her, scratch her
And without my permission,
An orgasm was ripped
Out of my body.

I laid there,
Thinking this was the extent
Of the violation,
Tears forming in my eyes
But I refused to let
Them fall.

Then I felt something
Push against my core.
I looked down
To see her impaling me
With a strap on,
A fake dick.

She drove into me
With no mercy,
And just when I thought
I would be ripped apart,
She found her release
And as a result,
My body was released.

I laid there
For a second or two
In a state of confusion.
What just happened here?

She removed the strap on
And fixed her clothes,
Her expression daring me to move,
My body was too used
For me to be able to fight.

She smiled at me,
"You liked that, didn't you?
I told you I can do things
A man could never do."

She extracted a card
From her back pocket
And tossed it at me.
"Call me if you want more."
Then she was gone.

I picked up the card,
The shock of what happened
Fading away.

Rebecca.
I was just raped
By a woman named
Rebecca.

What was I going to do?
How was I going
To tell my boyfriend?
What was I going
To tell the police?
How was I going
To tell them that
One of their own
Was raped by a woman
Named Rebecca?

I shimmied off the hood,
And pulled down my skirt,
My panties were nowhere
To be found, Rebecca
Most likely had them.

I paced back and forth,
My car was still broken down,
My cell phone battery was still dead,
I was just raped,
All the while I debated
What to do next.

Should I become
One of the many women
Who remain silent
With hopes that the memories
Fade away with the passing of time?

Or should I tell
My boyfriend, the police,
The doctors, the District Attorney,
The judge, the jurors,
The world that
I was raped?

I stopped pacing
And walked in the opposite direction
Of the bar.
I needed a phone.

I found a 24/7 corner store
Two blocks away,
I called my boyfriend and
I told him, then
I called 911 and
I told them.

A year later,
Rebecca stood at
The defense table,
The jury's verdict being read.
Guilty as charged.

She thought she would
Never be arrested.
What woman would admit
That she was raped
By a woman?

At the trial,
Evidence was presented,
My panties that the police
Had found on her. My DNA
On the strap on
They had found on her.

During the trial,
Other women came forth,
Their stories no different
From mine.
The last count was twenty.

Knowing her fate was sealed,
Rebecca confessed to all her rapes.
A total of thirty six,
Thirty five too many.

All it would have taken
Was one woman
To stand up,
To tell her story,
To take this monster
Off the street.

It's just sad that
It had to be me,
The thirty sixth, to do so.

It doesn't matter if it's
A woman or a man,
An adult or a child,
An uncle or an aunt,
A father or a mother,
A grandfather or a family friend,
Violence is violence,
Sexual assault is sexual assault.
Tell your story,
Someone will listen.


Submitted to dVerse & Jingle Poetry 

His Words

source

His words used to be
Sweetness and light.

They were at times
Beautiful sonnets
That would have left
Shakespeare green with envy.

They were at times
Naughty whispers
That would have made
Seasoned porn stars blush.

His words would
Lightly rain down on me
Leaving me feeling
Loved, cherished,
Wanted and desired.

Now, his words are
Thunderclouds and bitterness.

His words are the same
That would be found
On battlefields instead
Of bedrooms.

They would pummel me,
Striking me down
When I tried to rise,
Clawing at me and
Ripping out my confidence,
My self worth,
My self esteem
From my wreaked body.

He would look at me
And say that my face
Was the face of a liar.

Behind my eyes
Were secrets
I refuse to share,
He would say.

My ears were
The receivers
Of another man's words,
He extolled.

My lips spewed
Nothing but lies,
Ceaseless lies,
He admonished.

Yet the only person
I have ever lied to
Was the one who tried
To help me.

The one who saw the pain
Beyond my eyelashes
And extended a helping hand,
A sturdy shoulder,
But I waved away both.

I turned away from the help
Because I believed
That one day,
One beautiful day,
He will return to the man
Who spoke words
That were sweetness and light.

Better

mechanicalanimals;
She always said
That she was a clumsy person,
That she was prone to
Walking into doors,
Tripping over her own feet,
But we knew better.

She always said
She had something at home
To do,
That was shy she couldn't
Go out with us,
Be it for drinks,
For a cup of coffee,
For dinner,
But we knew better.

She always had a reason
Why her boyfriend
Was constantly calling her phone
6, 7, 8 times during the times
We did get to hang out,
But we knew better.

She always had
An excuse,
An explanation,
A reason
For things that
Just didn't seem right,
But we knew better.

Now she will never
Say anything,
Have a reason,
An explanation,
An excuse for anything
Because we didn't do
Better by her.

He Ain't My Daddy

"He ain't my daddy!!"
"He ain't my daddy!!"
A soft chant rose
From under the sheets
Which hid a precious treasure.

Said treasure,
A little worn
But a diamond
Doesn't come out
Of the ground shiny
And ready to be set in a ring.

This treasure
Has felt the pressure
Of a fist against flesh,
Just like a piece of coal
Feels the pressure of the earth
Against it's sides.

This treasure
Has been hit,
Slapped,
Punched
And after all of that,
She would curl up
In her bed and chant
"He ain't my daddy!"
"He ain't my daddy!"

Her real daddy

Would never touch he
With aggressive hands,
Instead he would
Embrace her
With a mixture
Of love and pride.

Her real daddy
Would move mountains
To protect her,
To help her reach
Beyond the heights
He himself had reached.

One day,
she promised herself,
She would find her
Real daddy
And he will treat
Her like the treasure
She was.

But tonight,
As Pearl lay under
The covers,
She chants
"He ain't my daddy!"
"He ain't my daddy!"

If Mom Was Here

The door of the apartment opens,
A girl enters,
Lisa her name,
Sixteen, her age.

She throws her bag on the couch,
Another day was coming to an end,
Her shirt has a stain
From Herbert spilling orange juice on her.

She switches on the TV.
Oh, her favourite soap.
Will Jessie marry Carla?
the phone rings.

It's Shanece.
She wants to talk about her boyfriend,
As usual,
Lisa told her she had homework.

It's four o'clock,
Got to fix dinner,
Macaroni and cheese with grilled chicken,
Maybe a salad.

It's now nine o'clock.
Her dad comes home.
Drunk.
Angry.

He does not like the dinner.
He slaps her
And punches her.
He turns to go to the den
To drink some more.

Things were different,
Her father was different
When her mother was alive.
Now the blows reign.

Things would have been
Different
If mom was here.

What They Did

Last Month,
He punched her.

Two Weeks Ago,
He threw a vase at her.

Last Week,
He gave her a black eye.

Three Days Ago,
He slapped her.

Yesterday,
He shoved her.

Last Night,
He kicked her.

Today,
She shot him.

A Poet Died In Brooklyn

A poet died in Brooklyn today,
Her body found in an alley.
A single gunshot round
To the heart.
Her purse still clenched
To her side.

In the news,
The said a woman died,
Not mentioning
How her words
Flowed on the lines
Of her steno pad
Or how those same words
Would curl and twist
Into the audience,
Bringing them into her world.
All they said was
A woman died in Brooklyn.

Brooklyn,
New York City and yet not NYC,
Urban yet suburban,
Long Island and yet not LI.
Safe and yet unsafe.
Brooklyn was just right for her.

A poet died in Brooklyn,
A bullet to her heart,
A lover not to be found.
A lover not wanting to be found.

He had a history,
A history of splitting lips
Of black eyes
And broken ribs,
All of which were
Found on the poet.

The poet was not made
Of the stock
That allowed this abuse.
Without a paragraph,
A sentence,
A word,
She left him in Los Angeles.

From there she found homes
In Las Vegas, Chicago
And every city
She could could lose herself.
Every time he would find her.

That day in Brooklyn,
He found the poet.
He shot the poet.
He left the poet
In an alley to die.

Days passed,
Her words were found,
Her story told.
He was found,
A noose tied tightly
Around his neck.
An abuser died in Brooklyn.
The final word was written.

(Pic: Soul Spectrum)