I feel your voice
like fingers on my face
each word traces a scar
The wounds are memory
but their ghosts torment
as I tremble, tongue of clay
and wish for rain
to hide in
Your words, your voice
your power
tear down my walls
again and again
and as I remember
moth-kiss touch
on twisted scars
of shame and terror
the weeping of the damned
is muted
to become only me
In the silence that is left
I feel your spirit
given freely
begin to teach mine
how to be free


© W.R.R. 7/29/2011
For Adam Lambert, “Outlaws of Love”

About W.R.R.

Bipolar & survivor of incest/child sex abuse and adult male rape; bisexual, polyamorist, poet/writer/advocate & married father of four. View all posts by W.R.R.

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