I don't write poetry anymore.

I don't write poetry anymore.
The book and pen by my bed side table have become fixtures,  
part of my room decor.

I don't write poetry anymore, 
i stopped when i found him on top of me
just as the moon joined the death of day, into obscurity

I don't write poetry anymore
especially as words now hold grunts, screams and words hold tears-
Poetry is no longer poetry
empty...empty like the uterus that no longer holds life
a death of a dream- flickering like a dying lamp.

I don't write poetry anymore
i now have a selection of 'faces' to put on just like the choices of shoes i own
feelings... bitter- i'm disowned
just like the morning after pill that now resembles shame
A shame that holds life- at ransom
A price i can't pay
I still endure the pain

I don't write poetry anymore
as words no longer flow
the recycled paper remains empty
the ink reminds her of the blood slowly making its way down her thighs- in his hands-
A hand...now repulsive
feelings removed- detached from emotions
emergence of a storm- formed by the tears of her life,
hands... in between her thighs

- heart that longs for freedom
- free we can never be
To have and to hold- is not what it seems,

I don't write poetry anymore
because hope no longer lives in her eyes
she was weathered
just like the birds who travel far up in the skies
it dawned on her
her demons have caught up with her

I don't write poetry anymore
because of those many nights
when she woke to write
she found him
as a permanent figure on top of her- oblivious of the darkness, her breathing, to her whimpering
he became the epitome of raw evil

I don't write poetry anymore
The moon and stars are slowly fading, 
light appears through the cracks of the skies
I must lay my head to rest
as the heart no longer rises with the break of dawn.

I don't write poetry anymore.
The book and pen by my bed side table have become fixtures,  part of my room decor.