Your Voice Became a Fist…#372

My whiteness is scarred and marred in blue,

green, and yellow. Blood, red, drips, then

dries as I lay in my bed of endless lies.

Your charm is known by all; I take the

thrashing, and I covered it all well. It is the

threat of what may come, so I never let

it be known. Who would believe my story,

who would I tell?

All friendships are those you have made

throughout these many years. I was not allowed

friends, I chose that myself mostly out of fear.

You are gone now; I do not know if you are in

Heaven or Hell. It is too late for me; I still live

in fear, panic about waking up one morning to

find that you are still here. So, in the end, you

even now, win with power over me that I cannot

live my soul continues to live under a threat.

When you were angry, your voice became a fist.

While it is I, still, who has no freedom. It is you

that always stood in the fog of our world with

Self-styled intelligence and prefabricated wisdom.

Copyight©2012.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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