by Motavenda Melchizedek
No arms
I have no arms
Where are my arms?
Can I use your arms?
Only if I do it your way?
No thanks
I’ll find mine
My pinned down arms
did I leave them behind? On the table where he raped me?
They’d be so little on me now
So awkward and flailing and unfamiliar
But no arms are worse
No arms at all
To build with
Two holes now where my arms once were
little baby holes
for little baby arms
He held her there
That little baby girl
And raged and raged
Spewing his venom
Spitting in her tiny face
his hatred
His hate of beauty
of innocence
of what she saw
in the pureness of her knowledge.
The truth and nothing but the truth.
Nothing less than the truth.
I saw it all.
And I see it now.
Pure white light at the mercy
of the filth and vile rage
that ruled his soul
