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Corner: Poetry by Ritual Abuse Survivors |
Ritual Abuse,
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Patients
Patients
i sit upon this captive's bed
and look out of the locked window.
a wire screen stands between my self and
cool bleeding glass
between myself and
hungry air and dying earth.
i sit and glare upon my useless hands
as they lay fisted in my lap
knotted like my belly
and will not let me go.
my hands
cold angry
claws
cannot find the key to open
the small heavy windowed
watchful door behind me.
i let them see my back so they
cannot steal my face
to put upon their lying pages
stacked outside this door.
i will not utter a sound against these
four walls
this floor
this ceiling
and this impotent window.
sherlok, May '95
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Last updated: Sunday, 25-May-2008 00:14:49 PDT