221. O’ Pretty Little Thing

O’ What a pretty little thing.

How do you not, now know?

That you are here to bare your self;

Naked. Soul-aglow.

Porcelain skin and glazed, glassy eyes,

Gaze a world of whips; chains.

Hands are icy-cold, stone’lly things;

This you’ll learn in pains.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

Dance and spin ’round for me.

For I am master. You the slave.

Ah, dream of what will never be!

Only the sweeter to taste….touch….

When lips meet each new crack.

My doll you steadily break way,

To each piercing whack.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

My favorite little toy.

Stop escaping from our play times,

And in pain find joy.

Soon, my dear, you’ll be so ugly,

From all your hopeless dreams,

That I will have to leave you ‘lone,

To drown in your screams.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

My broken little doll.

Savor the torment and the care,

Damaged toy so small,

For that is what you were made for;

To give pleasure to us.

To play and cry blood-tears for us,

And ne’er make a fuss.

O’ What a pretty little thing.

Black-fractured porcelain doll.

Now I must leave you,

(Didn’t listen….so freed you)

To hang by the neck on my wall.

You could have accepted your place,

But you had to dream more.

Now you’ll be broken forever.

Toy doll turned a criminal and whore!

K. Aldaya, 12/15/11

Disclaimer: This is based on personal experience and is not meant to condone or diminish abuse in any shape or form, rather it was written to bring light to the victims of abuse and how they are treated, not only by their abusers, but by society at large when they step out against the abuses done to them.

Picture: Artist Unknown; (Some writing in corner but can’t make it out?) http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4029/4655914640_888667c445_o.jpg

214. Scream or Shout

So many thoughts inside my head,

But how to get them out?

I wish I knew, or had one clue,

As to how to scream or shout!

All this pain locked away,

Since the dawn of time.

My skin is pain, although in vain,

I ask to know my crime.

Rock is cold and has no soul,

And feels not pain or sorrow.

How is it then, my skin feels it when,

My soul hides deep in marrow?

So many thoughts inside my head,

But how to get them out?

They hide behind, walls of stone and bind….

My tears: They scream…..they shout!

K. Aldaya, 05/23/11

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://www.free-hdwallpapers.com/wallpapers/abstract/173332.jpg

196. The Great Inundation

Days of light, and black of night,

The endlessly faded-years,

Arise in mind, the wish to find,

The ground unwashed with tears.

Shadows of night,

Flashes of light,

Drip in and out the eyes.

What can I say of where I’ll stay,

When rivers run and rise?

Wooden floors, and creaking doors.

I do not dare to linger more,

For waters-rose, sift through the toes,

And send shivers before.

I do not wish to make a splish,

And out of door make ‘scape.

I only ask, what is my task,

For drying times’ landscape?

I know this house has been a house,

Through myriad ages and storm-rains.

What is, just is, and what is…,

Has left me with these pains.

Give me a firm place to stand firm,

Within the flood-torn remnant thoughts,

Of the mind, which I still find,

O’er-run and soaked with fraughts.

K. Aldaya, 4/20/06

Picture: “Flooded Subway-Murder” by etwoo on Deviant Art; http://etwoo.deviantart.com/art/Flooded-subway-Murder-174655998

164. Be At Peace Little Ones

In my youth I never slept,

As one of idle mind.

For children of innocence,

So soon are left behind;

To gather and to bind.

A mess of immature chaos,

Was carried from my early start.

Oh, youth should not be poisoned so,

Twisted by a blackened heart,

And dreams scattered apart.

I know not what it’s like,

To be free of my memory,

Nightmares and they intermixed,

Compounded in every degree,

By the years taken from me.

My body was the enemy.

My soul a fallen comrade,

In wars of power and control.

The armor in which I was clad,

Was made of fear…and bad.

When turmoil is your first bed,

And innocence costs you dear,

You learn to sleep alone at night,

And be at peace in the drear.

(As your side’s pierced with a spear).

So be at peace ye little ones,

When youths’ caress has left,

To comfort not within the strife,

That’s left your soul bereft.

Look beyond the theft,

As just one piece of this shattered-life.

K. Aldaya, 9/17/05

Picture: Originally on http://vodkaandvogue.tumblr.com/; Photographer Unknown; http://favim.com/image/311870/

156. Falling Rain

The body won’t forget what the mind wants to,

So I’m stuck with these old feelings,

And a constant aching-clue,

As to why there are no ceilings,

On this house or any other.

A protective realm of dry,

Under the blackened shadows of the rainy sky.

Bones rust and rot, …hoping to die.

The mind doesn’t want to recall what the body’s kept,

For the mind escaped somewhere while the body slept.

Dreams…0’dreams have brought me here,

To this time I own,

But skin decays, in gripped portrays,

Of storms the mind’s disowned.

The body won’t forget what the mind longs to.

The damage is already done,

Though God’s pulled the years through,

Out of the flood and mounting mud,

Having no reason…not one…haven’t a clue,

For the hours and minutes here are,

Undeserving of a mind.

In a cursed tomb as this with no covering to find….

And there’s one drop…more behind.

K. Aldaya, 8/6/05

Picture: “Rain Drops” by Austin Tolin on Flickr; https://www.flickr.com/photos/austintolin/124121992/in/set-72057594085954911