I stayed, watching him choke in his own skin.
He knew I should be hurt or scarred.
I knew he wanted that.
He wanted me to hear my own screams in the dark,
Screams he stifled as he gripped me
In both of his hands.
He wanted that fear he saw in my eyes,
As he slid into my body.
The very fact I was there
Kept that pathetic dream from being fulfilled.

He swears he didn’t think
He was taking anything that
Wasn’t given willingly
But watching him squirm,
While his body died around him
Showed he knew exactly what he was doing.

I’ve forgiven him but not forgotten.
He took my body and made me a woman,
But I always had this way
Of detaching myself from my body,
The land was foreign at the time
And, at the time, I longed to have the ability
To leave it forever, but I wasn’t brave enough.

I couldn’t do it,
I couldn’t take my own life.
I wouldn’t let him do it by stealing my pride.
So I’ve forgiven him, but not forgotten.
That’s the best torture for what he tried to take . . .
I was always woman enough not to let him.


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Copyright ©1997 by Carol Hopwood. All rights reserved.
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