Her Story, In Empty Words.

Let me tell your story miss
Let me paint a picture of words
You’ve indulged my flashing lights
You’ve smiled at my canvas
But your story lies in pieces
Tattered, in beautiful ruins

I urged her through moons and rains
To change and time she seemed oblivious
Her reply, never changing, timeless
But she underestimated my persistence
Urged on by the crumbs she drops
Hints at a trapped hideous comeliness

I almost felt regret as the story unraveled
I could feel the burns that had her branded
Scorned wife lashing out at a child bride
A face was born, worn only by slaves
That face evoked no mercy, no sympathies
The body bore its map and told its tales

So here’s her story, first sold to a husband
A child still, condemned by a brand
Enslaved, mistreated, yet she survived
She tolerates their pity, as they stare disgusted
And my relentless prodding, her senses assaulted
As she awaits the ultimate end to all misery inflicted


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