Little Girl Wife

White whispers to me

beyond

his sense of love.

He came to me,

hand on my breast

and whispers in my ear.

It was not natural,

it was not normal

to see the man that you would marry for the first time under such conditions.

His hand,

holding mine

was a chain

to keep me down

and silent.

This house

was filled with antiques

and cats

who roamed across the brown carpet

and up the white-blue walls

as though they were insane with jealousy over their master's loyalty toward me.

I wanted to die

I wanted to scream.

This is not for me

this is not what I want.

He must have mistook my politeness

for affection

when I allowed him to sit beside me.

He must have taken my words as an invitation

when he kissed my lips hard

parting them

for yet again another set of lies to control me.

He must have taken my desire to see the world

and live within the lust of it all

as devotion

only for him and this little house filled with cats.

His white skin whispered to me

from the silky flesh that was all over me after dinner.

On the couch

on the porch.

"Its a beautiful night."

"Yes,"

another kiss

another lie.

I wanted to evaporate

fall into a puddle of liquid at his feet

I wanted to be free of his hands

his mouth.

I wanted my pen

to solidify my intensions and make them clear this time.

Interruption,

his mother.

Daughter she called me,

daughter I was not.

Alone again,

another kiss,

where's my pen?

where's my paper?

I never leave home without them.

I was trapped

silent

his mouth on mine

his hand in my pants.

Please!

I don't know how I got so deep in here

how my hands

only moments ago were alone

became intertwined

with this custom

of the old ways.

At that moment I wanted to chop my long hair off

and say to hell with tradition

move on

like the nomads my people once were.

I could never be a wife to this boy

or a daughter to that woman.

But choice

and option

are never afforded to a girl such as myself.

To young to break away

to old to start anew.