THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.
They said if with the caretakers she would stick, she can be uncaring of the wordly dooms.
But In the corners of her own haven, if only she knew what danger looms.
Birthed in the cradle of neglect, predators infest not on exterior road,
but infiltrating the walls of a seemingly secure adobe.
They paint an innocent facade, agreeable manners feigned in the spectators' sight,
but the shadows is where their real twisted minds alight.
The curious little legs run right into his embrace, for she thinks distrusting him absurd,
while a wicked smirk invites a gullible mockingbird.
When the eyes of world turn blind, a monstrous hand extends in the absence of a fender,
ready to unveil horrors that she should never have witnessed in an age so tender.
Since he said this little game she was to enjoy, terrified she holds her tongue.
With no cure for an entitled psyche, letting them touch a skin so unripe and young.
History and hope, all would watch powerlessly impassioned,
eyes bowed in shame, as life loses compassion.
The one to cut open a flesh so fresh, wasn't swords or guns or rage,
the sins enacted by the hand of a caregiver who was her only salvage.
Her throat painfully obstructs, a welling dam threatening to break
and spill from the eyes flushed wet,
a silent scream stabbing her chest,
for a reason so vile she couldn't comprehend yet.
Abashed she keeps the secret circumscribed until it manifests into an insidious cancer.
An illness that disguises itself as her own failures and flawed answers.
Time flies fast but her head always hung low,
a hasty pace in the presence of her haunting past, some things she can never show.
A broken will, not enough drive, all that which they said, she could've worked hard on.
In her stunted state she can never thrive, so they decided to indifferently march on.
Voices growing in her misty head tell her to desert the last straw,
eternally freeze the contracted lungs, enough air they're unable to at last draw.
But courage finally blooms in her caged heart.
She ought reject every unbelieving eyes,
and looks of disgust of her supposed lies,
breaking the walls and childhood theft
of a false home that failed to protect.
A bitter thirst for avenging control, no longer on bed is her frail body curled.
From the heavens she was sold bringing upon hell to the rotting world.
The unknown fears of the outside now looked like a better place if nothing else.
The devils never dare stray near
for she was born into the hands
of Satan himself.