I will not become
a poem that reflects on past trauma and a rally to not fall to the experience.
By Jennisea RedfieldPublished about a year ago • 1 min read
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Photo by Kevin Wenning on Unsplash
Innocence stolen,
love tested.
the pain of living with
mistrust,
the horrors of slain purity.
Over and over and over again.
Even with him gone;
the smell, the taste,
the feeling and torture
lingers, like invisble
smoke.
Living day by day,
blank and dull,
slowly,
ever so slowly,
sinking into the tar pits of distress.
Marring flesh.
Then...
Realization.
He's gone.
Never to mark
another with his
venomous touch.
And
I will not bow down!
I will NEVER let another strike me down!
I will not let the
melancholic ebb of
a half-life rule over my mind
anymore.
I won't become
one of the
Walking Dead.
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