poetry writing


He held me with his bare hands,
I was still believing,
it’s was the way he
keeps his favourite things,
making them feel alive. 

His eyes were gazing mine,
I assumed it was devotion,
Till the time his lusted eyes
Ensured his validation.

I felt every sin he committed,
But not the bruises behind my back,
He wasn’t my knight in shining armour,
My mum told me when I was 16.

I screamed, wondering it would help,
From the monster, I feared every time.
Hush, he said,
And I recalled my uncle’s voice
Enclosing my mouth so I couldn’t scream.

-Riya Shah

By Ray


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