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;
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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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