When A Young Girl Is Raped.
When A Young Girl Is Raped.
There is nothing of value under
these black keys beneath my fingertips
nor in the pens that mock me with
their fluency frozen, denying my mind
access to the screams I want to write.
When a young girl, a poetess or any girl is raped,
her eyes betray all the sweet dreams
ravaged by lust, savaged by a beast,
an illiterate scrotum spilling it's
seeds of poison in unwelcoming flesh.
This was not to be the first time
passion flooded her world,
destroying all the saccharine hopes
she once held for a perfect
couplet of two in love.
I long to have his useless flesh
spread and pinned before me,
in a parchment of pain, across which
I can slash my pen in cutting strokes
removing his manhood without words.
A poet's tool become murderous,
a vasectomy of his right
to father anything further.
With violent flicks of my bic
removing his deceitful eyes as well,
blinding him forever to any beauty
he might later choose to violate
with his flesh sword of sorrow.
No mercy for such scum, no appeals,
just dessication and removal
from this plane of existence,
to his rightful realm where demons
await him with pitchforked probes
and endless violations of his
orifices punctured eternally.
If she were my daughter,
I would hunt him down, and
and employ all of my killing skills
instilled in me during my
service in the Marines,
slowly, agonizingly over his trembling,
cowardly, wasted life.
No jury composed of any
family men or women,
would convict me.
My temporary insanity would be
considered a blessing
in my judgement
by society at large.
This story is true,
it happens daily,
in sickening episodes
where lust is unzipped
and forced on innocence,
with a rage that needs
to be extinguished,
execution for any
and all such violations
is the only thing
befitting of such crimes.
Alas we are far too merciful,
even the victims often
shoulder some of the blame,
in our courts of lawlessness.
I propose that she post his name,
with his photo on every website that
allows such incrimination against him.
Even here so that no other poetess,
anywhere within his vicinity,
or anywhere in the world
will dare to go near his foul flesh.
Printed and posted in
in a text size of 6 or 8,
ostracizing him from any chance
to practice his lust,
to find a wife, or girlfriend,
or to ever live a normal happy life,
a sexless neutered maggot,
who will never know the growing again
of love's wings as he
festers in his own filth.
This is true justice,
aside from his being forcibly
injected with a long prick,
that grants him entrance to hell's gates.
I am sorry for the
loss of your aspirations,
my words are always here to heal you,
a shoulder to lean on
awaits your wearied head.
Remember it is merely
a physical act of violence,
that can be cleansed
from your body and soul,
though the process is painful.
You are beautiful regardless of the
rapist of dreams who assailed you.
Your aspirations rise above such manure,
let it only stain your path briefly
on the road to happiness ahead.
Know that you are loved by many,
find comfort in that zone,
and move on, when you are ready.
Leave him far behind you
in the dust of despair,
to face a life of hardness,
that will never match his flaccid,
useless, cowardly appendage of pain.
Godspeed to your healing and renewal.
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