Poetry 'Blurt'

[Kitte]

Ever had a poem run round your head and have no idea what to do with it... this is the place... so

Angry little girl

Sweat on her lips

Tears rage in her eyes

Fists beat her body

Her spirit trampled

No band-aid will heal

This wounded innocence

It keeps her eyes dry

Leather strap on her thigh

No pleasure there

Not for years to come

Welts rise that can’t be seen

Not by Freud, or Jung

Or too many lovers

Tomorrow will bring them

The placebo of the brutality of sex

Covers gashes in her soul

This angry little girl

Always there.