Abuse takes many forms.
You may beat me until I submit,
my blood spilling at your feet;
you may pound obedience from me
when my body is torn and weak;
you may bend my back in submission,
and force me to your will,
but my love and respect you have not,
and my pride is mine alone, still.
You may deprive me of basic needs;
refuse me the rights of life;
constrict all that nurtures me,
and fill my hours with strife.
But you will not force a song from me,
for I sing not for your ears,
but my wails fill your night dreams,
and supply your days with tears.
I am the reason you lament
and pace from dawn to dusk;
it is from me you are running,
in vain attempt to quench lust.
For your hatred knows no bounds,
and you think of me with contempt,
but in your heart you know without knowing
that from you my spirit is exempt.
Poetry by Barbara Carleton
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Written on 2010-09-15 at 17:25
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