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Poem #123

Nobody is to know of the pain she endures.
It’s all well hidden in the night, the dark as black
as the bruises on her neck surrounds
the cursed home and the cursed closed doors
behind which she cries for help.
The only number bigger than the number of times
he beat the shit out of her is the number of
makeup products she uses to cover the consequences.

“RUN RUN” she yells at her legs but they aren’t
serving her anymore. It’s not because they don’t
want to, it’s because he broke her spirit and soul.
She didn’t give up, she ran out of time to avoid
the swing of his arm and he knocked the struggle
right out of her mind.

She is so beautiful and so put together and has
such a wide smile but nobody realizes that broken
girls and bruised women always smile the prettiest.
They have to hide that which the world told them to be
ashamed of. They have to keep to themselves the
stories of abuse and rape everyone still believes to be fake.

7 replies on “Poem #123”

There have been times when part of the make up ritual is to find the inner fortitude to turn those bruises into battle scars and righteously proclaim oneself a victorious survivor. Sending love, respect, strength and positivity to my survivor sisters and brothers…

Some of these broken women changed the world for better.
Finding women like these is pretty rare, and once you find them you feel absolutely challenged by their defiant words.

These women are gold hidden in a world of pollution.

This is a poem written for valiant women.

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