His Living Trinket
You belong in this room where your opinions do not matter.
Your tongue will be held back, your voice must be paused.
You are beautiful to look at though you are fragile to touch.
Like a lovely spring flower you’ll wilt by his window.
Dark bruises cover you; your lips are cracked and bloody.
He watched you for a while before he brought you to his room.
He screams and shoves, does not care that you’re collapsing to the ground.
The fetal position is your new best friend and tears the only warmth your body gets to feel.
When you’re at your lowest he offers you an image of eagles and wild horses.
Like a child that’s been promised swings your eyes swell as you imagine hugging your mom.
He smirks and you realize; you’re a helpless fly and you’re caught inside his web.
When you close your eyes to sleep you always thought you’d dream of home.
Instead you see only him and this dark, cold room.
Your tongue will be held back, your voice must be paused.
You are beautiful to look at though you are fragile to touch.
Like a lovely spring flower you’ll wilt by his window.
Dark bruises cover you; your lips are cracked and bloody.
He watched you for a while before he brought you to his room.
He screams and shoves, does not care that you’re collapsing to the ground.
The fetal position is your new best friend and tears the only warmth your body gets to feel.
When you’re at your lowest he offers you an image of eagles and wild horses.
Like a child that’s been promised swings your eyes swell as you imagine hugging your mom.
He smirks and you realize; you’re a helpless fly and you’re caught inside his web.
When you close your eyes to sleep you always thought you’d dream of home.
Instead you see only him and this dark, cold room.
♠ ♠ ♠
The poem was written for my Creative Writing class at Marshall University. I feel as though it could use a bit more work, and would appreciate getting some constructive criticism in regard to what works, and what could be made better.