by Motavenda Melchizedek
She wonders
can she still be pretty
under layers of goo
and ages of belief
that the filth
and the horror
were her own
She wonders
can she still sing
after so much screaming
and so many
voiceless days
And can she
move and
dance about
and feel
her rhythm
after only
feeling his
It is all there
all of her is
there
and knowing that
she lifts her head
and turns to face
another day
