I wrote this a few months ago. It's more traditional than most of my poetry. (I generally write stories, not poems, and when I do write poems, they're almost never rhyming.
I have been beaten.
I have been bruised.
I have been choked.
I have been screwed.
I have run.
I have hid.
I tried to escape.
From what you did.
But no matter how far I run.
How much I hide.
I can't forget.
The day I died.
You murdered me,
Though I lived on.
My life was corrupted.
The end of the dawn.
I didn't swear revenge on you.
I didn't want to know.
You did so much.
But just to me, my only angry foe.
You said don't tell.
I said no words.
You thought that I'd
Just crash and burn.
You didn't know
Though airplanes crashed
There were survivors.
Just homes you smashed.
You thought that quiet.
Meant I'd never tell.
You thought silence.
I thought to yell.
But it took years.
And in that time.
You got away.
A fish, no line.
You slipped out
From the net we made.
Had you been caught
I'd be free of this grave.
But you live on.
In your own world.
Where it's okay.
To hurt little girls.
