30/11/2010

RAPE.




RAPE.


Third attempt to write about it


And all I ever get too is the unzip part!


Trap of the honey sucker,


His bed made of semen petals!


I don’t look or care for excuses,


Yes I was young, so what !


Should I have known better?


When his fingers stroked my skin?


And his words twisted it my mind?


Hidden face of innocence can be so ugly!


I almost forget him, forgive? Who…


Before he did the deed it left on me!


one has to be violated it, my best tattoo.


It seems like the wind was slapping my ass,


When his fifthly hands caressed it my hair.


His sickly voice trying to hypnotised my drunken soul,


And felt my clothes being removed away!


What was the big deal? those crimes happen every days,


I was seventeen, I was no kid,


Oh sure, It took long before I took the knife


And kill my ego used and abused!


Paris, city of the lovers,


Not so sure by the hot poker,


I scream enough for him to give me back my serenity,


By then it was too late!


The man, used a soap to seat on his new trophy,


And if I felt hate, my manhood was hard,


And let him steals my innocence,


Today, I feel nothing, no an inches of hate!


They say rape is a taboo subject,


I say, taboo is the silence that followed it!


I have no more time for secrets,


We all, know secret kills!


It could have been someone else,


Today, I barely remember his face,


More the details of his room,


The pimp of the voice whispering me,


How beautiful, I was,


The lies and the burning soap,


Burning my inside while he took his pleasure,


And felt to sleep like a child.


As I was told youth is wasted on the youngsters!


Woke up naked my mind still fills with blurry flashbacks,


Of what he had done to me,


looking at him sleeping peacefully.


The kid turned to a man,


And shook him, realising his clothes had vanished!


He could barely spoke and order me to go back to bed,


The front door was locked or was it my sanity?


I was a naked trap animal,


There was only one last exit,


I open the window,


And stood on the balcony.


I scream for my life,


He watched me like some frantic creature,


But he knew the look in my eyes,


Was ready to do the jump!


He crawled of the bed of his sin,


And took a key of his pocket,


Through my attire at me


And I run half-naked in the streets of romantic Paris.


There is neither moral or regrets,


I find my way to the train station,


And once more time as I had done thousand of time the night before,


I check my pocket, where I had not find any money or my return ticket.


As my hand plunge one more time in my jacket pocket,


I felt something I had look all night,


My hands retrieved the train ticket,


Was I a joke of the devil?


And all I could sense was the remains,


The burning sensation inside me,


Soap are made to wash hands,


Train ticket to leave, Strangers to avoid


As meaningless to-day the word rape has become.


Sweet seventy, face of an angel


Easy prey, half sober,


Wondering the streets of Paris,


Funny, I still always check my pockets to these days!


COPYRIGHT@H.NAUDET.2010.

4 comments:

  1. Haunting! How do we ever survive the things that happen to us? But this explains much of the voice in your poetry. Later in life, we give sex because we are so desperate for love, trying to replace the love and innocence that someone has stolen from us.

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  2. and sometimes silence is gold after u made u peace

    ReplyDelete