worthless fem
Executioner
tossing in bed, the moonlight’s pallid glow
peeps through the shuttered curtains where in vain
she seeks to sleep, trying her best to throw
away for ever the remembered pain
of when he held her captive in the barn
and chafing ropes confined her stripped bare flesh
as on her he begat her eldest bairn
while all her innocence dissolved to mush
her legs were bent and parted for his use;
his hands grasped both her globes in his strong hands
and twisted, beat them, into soft pink wounds.
her tunnel yielded access: to refuse
meant only greater suffering; his demands
were obdurate, and so she had to lose
fitfully in her little shell of flesh
she slept, as for three nights her racing mind
sought only quietness and an escape
from the narrow compass of her dungeon’s scope
yet even with each blow, each angry lash
she hoped that somehow, like the trickling sand
ebbing from hourglasses, she would seep
through some strange crevice in this hateful cellar
away from fists and whips and metal collar
her body ached, but not with pain alone;
his substitute for love was naked lust,
and his cruel words pruned away esteem
as, like a bruised and broken stem
she felt her confidence dissolve to dust,
her heart turn calloused as a shaped flint stone
within the cave of sorrow water flowed
and to her shame and horror she discovered
that even though she travelled down the road
of pain and sorrow, something in her yearned
to answer his cruel lust with honest love,
and maybe that is why her secret cave
climbed into climax never known before,
as powerful as a tsunami on the shore
she came in waves and felt herself a whore
so when at last her jailer let her go
her shrivelled self sobbed slowly home,
grateful at least that now her fallen snow
could melt away beneath the healing foam
of wet salt rivers gushing from her eyes,
and yet the heart within was drained of blood
as if his lust sufficed to make her dead
yet still her body held a cruel surprise
at home with Mum and Dad, 18 years old,
how could her sordid tale be revealed?
of course she had to find a way to mould
her broken life together. She concealed
her secret till the truth could not be hid,
and then the terror all came pouring out
as with a furious erupting spout
of hot and fiery tear, she said
what things – at least, one thing – he’d done to her,
and now she knew a judgement must be mad.
the time had long since passed for her to care
about the shame she felt. She’d no more pride.
later as in her body his child grew
she wondered would she love it when it came?
when in the hospital at last she knew
she had a girl, she gave the child a name,
and always loved her even though the shame
of how she came about would always strew
brambles and thorns within her aching brain,
an everlasting memory of her pain
peeps through the shuttered curtains where in vain
she seeks to sleep, trying her best to throw
away for ever the remembered pain
of when he held her captive in the barn
and chafing ropes confined her stripped bare flesh
as on her he begat her eldest bairn
while all her innocence dissolved to mush
her legs were bent and parted for his use;
his hands grasped both her globes in his strong hands
and twisted, beat them, into soft pink wounds.
her tunnel yielded access: to refuse
meant only greater suffering; his demands
were obdurate, and so she had to lose
fitfully in her little shell of flesh
she slept, as for three nights her racing mind
sought only quietness and an escape
from the narrow compass of her dungeon’s scope
yet even with each blow, each angry lash
she hoped that somehow, like the trickling sand
ebbing from hourglasses, she would seep
through some strange crevice in this hateful cellar
away from fists and whips and metal collar
her body ached, but not with pain alone;
his substitute for love was naked lust,
and his cruel words pruned away esteem
as, like a bruised and broken stem
she felt her confidence dissolve to dust,
her heart turn calloused as a shaped flint stone
within the cave of sorrow water flowed
and to her shame and horror she discovered
that even though she travelled down the road
of pain and sorrow, something in her yearned
to answer his cruel lust with honest love,
and maybe that is why her secret cave
climbed into climax never known before,
as powerful as a tsunami on the shore
she came in waves and felt herself a whore
so when at last her jailer let her go
her shrivelled self sobbed slowly home,
grateful at least that now her fallen snow
could melt away beneath the healing foam
of wet salt rivers gushing from her eyes,
and yet the heart within was drained of blood
as if his lust sufficed to make her dead
yet still her body held a cruel surprise
at home with Mum and Dad, 18 years old,
how could her sordid tale be revealed?
of course she had to find a way to mould
her broken life together. She concealed
her secret till the truth could not be hid,
and then the terror all came pouring out
as with a furious erupting spout
of hot and fiery tear, she said
what things – at least, one thing – he’d done to her,
and now she knew a judgement must be mad.
the time had long since passed for her to care
about the shame she felt. She’d no more pride.
later as in her body his child grew
she wondered would she love it when it came?
when in the hospital at last she knew
she had a girl, she gave the child a name,
and always loved her even though the shame
of how she came about would always strew
brambles and thorns within her aching brain,
an everlasting memory of her pain