Patterned Love

The scars on my frail body are nothing compared to the scar that has been left inside of me. Poison flows in my veins. Blood boils endlessly, making me weak. The stings still felt on my tear-stained visage. His hand swept through me capturing my aching heart. Laughing, he just stood there, my bleeding heart clenched in his fist. No heart, no emotions. I grew numb. My actions became mechanical as my flesh became immune to torture. Flesh killing flesh. That’s what it was. Finally he left.

My next adventure – intimacy. Little girl plays in a park. Little girl finds herself alone. Little girl not alone, not anymore. Intruders invade her fantasy world and in an instance rob her of her innocence. The sweet voice we once use to hear – laughing and giggling – has suddenly vanished. The curse of silence left her voiceless. Little girl has no voice to scream, little girl has no voice to stand.

Phase three. To trust is to give yourself completely. I trusted once. The figure was to be good to me and replace the first -so I thought. There was to be no guidance. Rather, deceit. I was filled with false hopes, only to be carved to stand naked before him. No longer a girl was I, but a woman at your disposal.

The woman tried to end the chapter with a happy note and only found herself in another trap. Finally it was understood that she could not be happy or even content unless she was dominated. Taken advantage of. An addiction to force. Aggressiveness. Abuse. The only kind of security she knew. Missing these ingredients meant she was no longer needed, no longer loved…so she believed.

-Angela S, March 1992


4 thoughts on “Patterned Love

  1. Deon says:

    Thank you for sharing these ideas. Who is to say what it all means. I conclude; all life is precious…live and share in the way only you can.


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