Sick and tired.
Body wrapped with sharp pain because my
body wasnít made to contain all this rage.
My mind wasnít made,
my eyes werenít made,
my soul was not made to behold what shackles my soul now.
Bound by memories of being innocent,
Uncle sinning against me sexually,
Momma knew he was molesting me, smacking me across my face. I could do nothing.
Pops wasnít around to give me the time of day.
All I wanted was a time and place where I could be loved.
A hug from my mom was too much.
So I turned to lust on the net while I was
hooked like a fish as I click, click, clicked to watch porn flicks
trying to find intimacy,
or an outlet at least.
But as I try to breathe and be at ease I see my mom in hell and the devilís breath through the glass [pipe.
Iím]? shattered in a flash. Fright and brokenness is the aftermath.
Brokenness is my aftermath.