I ducked their axe
But not the slap
The belt strap
And again and again
The razorblade
To my inner thigh
Of little maps
Flesh wounds
Like roses
I built hot memories
Warm enclosures.
Now my body
Is safe
Though not from their faith
And again and again
I am still caged
But now with longer spells
Of sunshine awake.

Molten tributaries
Live in my shoulders
Nerves stare me down
With contempt,
Dead-eyed
Salve upon salve
Licked away in time
Bloodied nails
Dig further through
My neck stretches
Like old glue
Snapping, without breaking
My hips take ahold
As if I am on a ledge
As if Im about to fall
Ankles loose in their skin
Try and try again
Cry and cry again
Numbness arrives
At night, to be held
Pokes me awake
I cannot escape
These children of pain,
No story
Brings satisfying meaning
They are simply here
Staring at me,
Pleading,
Some livid,
Some choked of feeling
I am left to carry them
With the very same body
They torture.

She painted me in violent red
Dripping oil and
Strokes of toxic lead
Painted bloodied battle scenes
Of her, martyred
Me, dead
Vast imagery to tell her story,
Duplicitously
She painted her face
On every soldier, replaced,
And sold it museum to museum,
Showcased
I am the pawn,
Exhausted
A lifetime of submission
Of holding up hers,
Supported
I jumped ship, swam to shore
Faced my pain,
Drew lines in the sand,
Ended my war
She sings to the world her lies
Still, now
And paints me in violent red
From the cut she made,
From the wounds she bled.