why,
why did you force me.
why did you take my,
innocence.
stole me.
now, I feel used.
abused.
why,
why did you choose me.
why couldn't you except,
"no."
you turn my words into a broken,
"..yes.."
leaving me with nothing left,
to say but,
why.

(l.j.t.)

a stone
             that falls
                              down a
                                               hill,
                                                        rolls.
a­ mind
                that escapes
                                        reality,
                                                       exceeds.
but a
           heart that
                              bleeds out
                                                   tolerance,
                                                      ­               breaks.

If luck knocks on your louvered door you will have a chance to fight your enemy. You will stand up like a crackerjack prize and pay no mind to the man that broke your backbone.

Into the windowless courtroom you will trek. People lined up on hand carved benches, staring with unaroused expressions, waiting warily for their names to be called.

You feel your breath halfheartedly fill your emaciated lungs with foul and cumbersome air as you survey the miserable scene and avoid locking eyes with the man that was disguised as your one true love.

You wear a band of rubber which you snap on your wrist at the first sign of weakness so you stay focused on the gavel’s exclamation.

He tells your long-lost spouse from another life with another wife that this is not Watergate and “I don’t recall” will not suffice in his civil courtroom.

His honor dishonors his woven white robe when he yells in your direction with agape red mouth and judgmental judicial tone. When the courage strikes your hand-stitched smile will widen with words and you will command an audience of perjurers who will point forceful fingers at their prior partners that used to be ******* lovers and now sit dead pan wantonly waiting to bleat themselves dry.

Slam the gavel while the corn cracks in the microwave bag until all the edges have been popped out and fairness has been forced through the funnel like liquid butter with a diet coke to wash it down.

You walk away, down the dark labyrinth of hallowed halls snapping your gum and tip-tapping your heels as you flee from the referee who does not understand your half eaten heart with the wiggly worm within its wind-up walls. He will pronounce your fate with a backhanded expletive and a muffled “adjourned.”

Help…by Jessie

Have you seen the battered face, of a child, that has been beat?

Lying in a pool of blood, at their attackers feet

Or the empty stare within their eyes, from nothing left to lose

Beaten by their father, who drank his weight in *****

Have you seen the trembling fear, which takes them from within?

And have you seen their broken hearts, brought about by others sins

Have you seen the broken arms, and bodies, which have been burnt?

The cycle as continued, the battered children learnt

The pain…it hurts but at its worst, despairs what kills the soul

And knowing that a loved on beat you, also takes its toll

Have you seen the caskets, laying quietly at you feet?

And the head stones of the children, in rows so nice and neat

So why are you still watching, when you hear the children cry?

Do them all a favor, and open up your eyes