this i must believe
for if it were otherwise
then mine was stolen away
before my memory
of childhood began
its absence unknown
but marked by
a dark hollowness

the soft pink blush
that warms the cheeks
of other little girls
stands out on my face
flaming and hot
the echo of a slap
delivered without
a physical blow

those sweet dreams
of unicorns and
first kisses
cradled in the
wide eyed hearts
of the ingenues
are a seething mass
of sexual tension
dark and roiling
with angry resentment

we must be born
without innocence
for who would
steal away the softness
that marks the gentler sex
leaving behind
this dark minded creature
who would rather
devour her own heart
than lose it
to love

07/31/2009

Posted on 08/01/2009
Copyright © 2025 Genevieve Sturrock