Year upon year, you have held me
in a cunning grip, trapped against my wishes
in this ugly
n e r.
Each time my eye locked upon a possible escape route,
you blocked it like a shot from a gun armed
by a mindless robot.
A small crack in the wall
winks its way into my thoughts, begging consideration.
It may have been there all along,
but I missed it
Perhaps it was made by the shock of your last
Even the shameful blush on your face
was a rude sham to manipulate me.
The abuse leaves no bruises
but it sure scars the soul.
The split is too small for you to to see, or maybe
you think me too clumsy to squeeze through.
Your skills of observation are blunted by self-obsession.
If you cared, you’d be aware that the stress
has flayed away my excess flesh.
I only need the strength to walk through
this small fissure.
I won’t crawl or beg for empathy;
it never helped before.
A hidden trace of dignity remains;
this, I must display.
When I gain my freedom,
I hope to grow so tall that you will never consider
torturing me again.
Rather, if a heart still beats in your selfish chest,
you might choose to nurture me.
If not, my child,
I shall be bereft, but our planet
will continue to breathe,
and so shall I.
©Jane Paterson Basil