For Her

i am not the girl crying on the floor
after she felt the clasp of brutal fingers
digging into her bloodlined skin;

i am not a daughter curled up naked in bedsheets
hoping for her mother's touch to relieve the sting
of the one she just endured;

i am not a sister hoping that her brother
never finds out because he might go mad
like another man did that cold October night;

i am not the woman who felt the tainted rusted
lust to hold her thighs still with iron chains
lingering on his hot arid breath;

i am not the one bruised battered
and shivering, waiting for the next move
from a monstrous vicious brute;

i am the one who can let words come forth
like a ray of sun to heat
her chilled body;

to keep his hands from crowning her face
and body until she weeps something terrible
and makes good her promise to cry;

i am the one who can take her blood and her shame
and capture it in my verse
to spread to my brothers for our sisters.

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