My past was pried open violently, Petals of an unopened bud By insecure male hands which tore out long hidden memories in gushes of disgust mixed with relief in that night of separation and togetherness.
"All of one's life is a struggle towards that; the narrow path between freedom and belonging. I have sometimes sacrificed freedom in order to belong, but more often I have given up all hope of belonging."
Jeanette Winterson
1 comment:
this poem is very disturbing. here there is no hope at all. you are so passive here, like a classic victim. cannot take me/you like that...
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