Ego sum

These moments lay, her solace alone 

The tintinubalations of proze through the head

Like bullets fast and unclean

Shot with the lies she disguises with rhyme

“Won’t you read the map to my soul?”

But those syllables remain frozen upon her lips

Will she cry? No.
To cry is to prove need for help

And to most help is when you’re too weak 

To face the same difficulty as those who can.

Oh the Royal “can” so significant

So empowering unles it’s said twice

Then dirty it becomes with rude intent

Laughable is this unlike her issues…but still you did.
Syllables replaced, then, in simpler form

Less sexually attractive to questions.

The map falls desk after desk

Lasers through by eyes after eyes

Thumbed at by all, too incompetent

But shush, hide it deeper, riddles meaner…
Do you want me to help you, little girl

With a mental thesaurus as wide as her thighs

Always diminished but never discussed

Oh can’t we discuss the dangerous daddy

Was that sexual? Ha, no! If it was

You’d not know, you’re incompetant, ignorant

You stupid old fools!
You were given a map to my trove

Thoughtful treasure lie there, yet you, 

Yes, you, did you need more?

Directions scrawled on anapkins reverse

“Come back soon!” It may read

But don’t you have to leave to return

Is that why this journey remains unembarked?
So we have fear and misdirection

Pick a hand! Any hand!

You were always too late…
She gave up, wrote her directions on the wall

“With the ink of her love”, they prayed with hope.

But no these were different

Where the rights were abuse, lefts pain

All the crossroads were family

And the roundabouts school…
You failed her so she failed you back 

In the black, because no light is needed

To write. “Tell someone”, she did, through

Proze and ink flows all that paralysed her tongue.

But you unworthy failure, you! 

She had to write her thoughts on the wall

Before you could see…too late.

You understood too late. 

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