Life and Literature

There is beauty to be seen. We like to see the evil and be blind to it. Beauty as we know it goes beyond. The scars? I inherited them, Patches them up So i can be called beautiful  Is it in your desolate nature? Or the stacks of clothing i cannot get behind  Pilling on the very existence that is us  Lost, lost indeed Find me, Finding who i am Do not look at the algae There is always an untold story Just ask How at all ages Pain comforts.

Remember the first day you touched me?  I do faintly. Your voice was coarse and smooth Your hands did not shake when it glazed over my skin The memory of sweet and clean pungent smell As you rubbed it on yourself The noise as the strokes became faster The feel of you trying your possible best to push. I try to forget but it was not the first time and today I decided not to fight back. Somehow I was starting to get used to the idea. Welcoming and looking forward to it even. Knowing, expecting and being disappointed when you were not around when I got back. I did not fully comprehend what was happening but the guilt would not leave me. My ear had heard the threatening words so much so that I wasn't afraid to tell. Instead I hated you and yet I wanted to protect you when everything I could hold on to. I was exposed beyond healing, and somehow i felt unimprisoned.