by Angela C. Orlando
I remember my abuser's hands.
They were large and red--
angry Hands--
hands that dominated and controlled,
rough and dry, like sandpaper,
corrosive, withering my spirit.
I remember my abuser's hands.
They were greedy,
grabbed at flesh and pleasure,
took but never gave back,
clung to cigarettes and alcohol,
liked the feel of money and what it could buy.
I remember my abuser's hands.
They spoke to me,
words in my hands,
more brutal than fists
stabbed at my heart
words so cold and cruel.
I remember my abuser's hands.
They beat me,
punched and slapped,
roughly shoved,
pulled my hair,
yanked me apart, piece by piece.
I remember my abuser's hands.
They haunt my memories,
visiting me in dreams,
beckoning to me from afar,
"You can never escape;
I'll return one day."
Oh, how I remember those hands!
This poem appears in:
Dark, Dark Silence
Poems of the Forbidden
By Various Authors
Edited by S. M. Stoffel
Copyright © 2011 S. M. Stoffel All rights reserved.
ISBN: 146091645X
Stoffel Publishing House
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