Pure as a Lamb

This poem explores difficult and emotionally distressing experiences. Readers are encouraged to prioritize their well-being and proceed with care.

When did the purity of my skin turn into a layer of ugly temptation?

When your calloused hands touched the softness of my cheeks, you left a disgusting sensation. 

When did my body become a false temple for all your sin?

And when I begged you to stop, you flashed me with a wolfish grin.

But in the end, I was to blame because “I was asking for it.” 

But when did being polite require being defiled?

What gave you the right to push me down, consume me whole when I was just a child?

My skin, as white as a lamb’s coat, is now covered in red handprints.

On my torso,

On my thighs,

On my breasts that were once deemed “tempting”

All laid bare, for you to grope. 

For you to stare and gawk at. 

Not once have I felt human— 

Instead, just an object to possess.

Like a lamb to the slaughter,

How would you feel if that were your daughter?

But I remain quiet, still.

As you continue your violent assault, I lie emotionless, ill, and cold.

As I feel my eyes become wetter than the space between my thighs—

A silent plea against your chains of lies,

I could do nothing but die. 

And when you stopped—I felt my heart drop.

Fearing the worst, the only sound was the way you stomped.

Leaving me behind, like a doll all run down.

And all I could do was drown.

I let out a sob for the girl I used to be,

My innocence is no longer mine,

What was once guarded was now desecrated,

The purity of my being,

Has now left me bleeding.

I question my existence,

A pitiful experience. 

If a woman’s best currency is her body.

Then it’s best if I just stay as a nobody.