You open the doors, the doors to the heart of you

After all, it’s a part of you,

Sometimes a duty, sometimes a pleasure

and yet, so often abused, your womanhood, your glory

your disgrace, your undoing.

 

Now you walk, your eyes a tomb of sorrow

your head bent as though in penance for your existence

your face a blank mask of sorrow and unshed tears

your soul is bleeding unceasingly

that special smile, that graceful sway all a memory

now you wish for a cowardly way out, death.

 

To him, you are a shell, an object of pleasure,

and therein lies destruction

your tears mean nothing to him

trading you for his moment of greed, of pleasure.

He laughs, satisfied,

You turn away in disgrace, disgust both at him and yourself

your torment never ending, you weep silent tears, cursing your womanhood

 

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