I can see legs I see the roots I can see my feet Child’s legs of terror I always thought the worst I saw my child’s feet One by one Cut, moving On a loom carpet In a home’s nest Full of mold and sperm To be born a girl Alone, watching To be born lost Never alone in this house Those feet running Weavers of the past Unwavering lashes A lash for the lass Inside the thin walls Curses and evil bones All brushed in white sludge Eternity of the past With a foaming mouth Her sight pale as death Surrounding incense messes her head Her thighs in color red Beware of the belt with the shiny end His voice will consume you Beware of the hands, dirty grey He will make you pay His feet running His face pulled down Unwavering lashes A lass from the past Worn out;
Vall.Grey poetry 
Very dark, a horrid subject, but not one we should close our eyes to.
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Thanks for the comment Hobbo! I agree with you 🙏🏻🖤
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Painful situations revealed through this expressive poem. Writing and poetry can offer a place to express that which can be unbearable to carry inside, when one feels safe to do so. This can bring healing for both writers and readers.
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Yes indeed, it’s a very cathartic process. Thank you for your support, Michele!! 🙏🏻✨
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Yes, writing certainly is. As long as the writer is ready, otherwise writing about a painful situation can be a trigger. You are most welcome. Take care. 💗
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