Sick and tired.
Trapped.
Body wrapped with sharp pain because my body wasn’t made to contain all this rage.
My mind wasn’t made,
my eyes weren’t made,
my soul was not made to behold what shackles my soul now.
Bound by memories of being innocent.
Uncle sinning against me sexually.
Momma knew he was molesting me, smacking me across my face. I could do nothing.
Pops wasn’t around to give me the time of day.
All I wanted was a time and place where I could be loved.
A hug from my mom was too much.
So I turned to lust on the net while I was hooked like a fish
as I click, click, clicked to watch porn flicks trying to find intimacy,
or an outlet at least.
But as I try to breathe and be at ease I see my mom in hell and the devil’s breath on the glass…broken, this is my aftermath.
brokenness is my aftermath