"He stole what was mine

He stole mine.

What he stole, I owned

I cherished

I adored.

He stole what was mine

 

I felt anger rushing down,

Up and down my flesh

I saw such resentment,

I stare into resentment inside my flesh,

He stole what was mine.

 

I remember his face, Lord,

I hear his voice.

He grunts

I scream

He smiles

I plead.

Those eyes sinking into me,

His hands crawling upon me.

 

He shattered my frame,

That which I cannot rebuild.

Hidden in shame,

From a life so worthlessly filled.

Life strapped to endless ground,

Vision glued but blind of my surrounds.

Exasperation aside of me,

Admiration of God’s will guiding me.

Desperation between his thighs,

Humiliation in my drowning eyes.

He grasped

He pulled

I pushed

I shoved

He yanked

He jerked

Clothing ripping off from me

Aggression pulled onto me

Doors closing before me.

He ruined what was a part of me.

He scoured

He hammered

Rage began to fill within me.

 

I realized what was occurring,

Was happening to me.

He was stealing what was mine.

 

I want it back,

I want what was mine.

I want what I had once before,

I need it back"

 

And so it happened,

on this very night.

I discovered a love so true,

and an imagination that in this moment suddenly grew.

The words and rhythm,

the genuity of anger and angst sewn into right now.

I had just written a story fixated on fear,

 on what I dread could happen if it would happen,

on an experience that I could feel.

And so it unfolded,

the truth that is,

I was no master of lines nor pulsating verses,

just an imaginist of what could happen if my frame were to shatter.