Set a child on a fancy horse
that goes round and round
laughter pealing out on the wind
Is it just a rare memory?
or is it a lie?
There’s a man behind
holding the strap
to keep him safe from falling
but he is not what he seems
Whirl of colors, lights, sounds
fantastic creatures jump and twirl
but the hand on the back
pressed into a spreading bruise
can turn the music to a din
and cotton candy dreams
slowly turn to ashes
breathe, choke, forget again
A child is not a pretty toy
a gift to barter or sell
bound head to toe in expectations
like bright ribbons
that tighten like a noose
A simple phrase spoken
brings it all back:
You got to get back on the horse, son
The image in mind’s eye is clear
rearing hooves, wild face, staring eye
it was black, flat paint
its expression frozen in a cry
the mane was stiff, not soft
the saddle wet with urine
as the giant hand slid inside
the tiny little clothes

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 3/2/2012
For all survivors of any form of rape or abuse. You are not alone. Speak out. Find your path to healing.

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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