and anxiety swallows me whole;
I look out the golden cage,
at the mud or at stars–
it is a decision I must make,
an act of the will.
Like the girl whose boyfriend lied
and sold her to a brothel in
Too ashamed to go home,
scared of his violence
and too hooked on smack,
she finds a picture of herself at
nine years old,
in every public toilet in the city,
her father’s handwriting
in purple ink on the back:
“We know what happened and we don’t care.
I miss you. Please come home.”
When we hear the sound of keys,
only prisoners rejoice.
© Alicia Khoo
NaPoWriMo Day 29
We are not for sale.
She envies the birds
and the bees.
One day I will be a bird,
she whispers to the universe.
Her father walks in and she ceases to exist.
Eighteen and out, she tells herself.
As blows flatten her face,
and her hair falls to the floor,
she lays facedown on marble,
in a pool of blood, sweat and tears.
Now a way of life.
Heart still beating
around a campfire,
she meditates on her wings,
sheathed with silver and gold.
© Alicia Khoo
NaPoWriMo Day 6
For all the children and grown-ups out there going through domestic violence, you are not alone. Seek help!
What were you wearing who told you to go with them alone you must
have been flirting were you wearing a bra stilettos mean you are a train
whore begging for it did you struggle why didn’t you run that blouse
was way too low take responsibility you must have been drunk.
(Are these judgments passed when Jane Doe is a guy?)