She’s not crying out for her mother
or her father to take her away,
she cries out for the sake of her lover
who was specific when he paid.
Threading fingers through holes in threadbare sheets,
she catalogues stains on the wall,
one shaped like a leaf (he grunts) she sees
her childhood home in the fall.
He’s fucking her now in a pink dress,
and she’s heard this one before.
Her own father called her a princess.
Her new daddy calls her a whore.
She thinks of all she’s done and been,
and how wise, a woman at fifteen.
Author notes
I was playing with the sonnett form
Written June 16th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
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This was amazing. I can't even pick a favorite part because it was just all so beautiful. I liked this mostly because it was so REAL. Keep writing.
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Awesome
Brilliant poem, i love it and it has inspired me to read more of your stuff!
well done.
xxx ooo
Megan -
Sad, well written
This is so sad! To lose one's innocence so young. -
this is absolutely beautiful. the entire thing was captivating, especially the second stanza. this whole piece is fantastic. keep it up and keep it real. <3
beautiful work.
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