A Different Sort of Rape

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Bright eyes smothered with tears, she spoke

“How do I always find a way to screw things up?”

Broken again, she condemned herself as worthless

Less than trashy, she was sheer filth

“Why can’t I be perfect for him?”

Golden-aura hair twisted and torn,

Bitter despise for a beauty not quite up to par.

Fingertips ragged from tracing edges of a fade-away mirror,

Searching for the edge that just might break her free.

A release from the mournful eyes staring back at her,

Star-swept periwinkle crumpled into a desperate spray of cerulean.

“I love him so much…”

Sliced-and-diced thighs, tokens of dismay

Obstacle course, dear boy, be gentle with your diurnal rape tonight

No need to take heed,

Forget she does this all for you,

She’s just another dolly for an afternoon of pleasure.

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Heather M.

10/10/05