To My Murderer

 

What have you done?
Do you even know?
Are you even the slightest bit aware?
If you were, would you even care?

You killed her.

Twenty years young and you killed her,
Halted her life with one single night,
You harvested her happiness,
When you violated her rights,
You stole her inner light,
Stomping out the fire that was keeping her alive,

You killed her.

You banished the sparkle from its home in her eyes,
Dulled the shine of what once resembled her smile,
You snatched the laughter from her belly,
Choked the prose from her throat,
So she could never express,
So she could never confess,
So she could never tell the world,
It was you who did this,
You who removed the passion once bubbling inside,
You derailed the course of an innocent life,

You killed her.

You asked to memorialize her body,
To fossilize her vessel,
And store it on your cellular device,
You wanted to remember the physical pleasures received,
Pleasure given to you at the cost of her entire being,
You wanted control but when you could no longer endear,
You changed up your tactics,
This time choosing to weaponize fear,

And yes, you won, she has been destroyed,
Buried beneath the ruins of the night you so enjoyed,

You killed her.

The subject of this murder,
She is now dead,
Gone,
Never coming back,
Someone so shattered,
Could never again be whole,
Something so broken,
Even time could never mend,

You killed her.

You and your actions alone,
You are to blame for scarring her soul,
Do you even know what it is you have done?
She is worse off this way than 6 ft. under,
And if we are speaking candidly, at the depth of her despair,
Where the reality lives, that her pain may never cease,
Submerged under God’s green Earth,
Is exactly the place she yearned to be,

So, can you see it now?
Have I made this very clear?
You took a bright, young, healing woman,

And brought her world to its knees,
You slayed her courage,
Disassembled her strength,
Broke her tempestuous spirit,
Beat back her resilience,
And snuffed out her dreams,
You ripped her apart, piece by piece,

You killed her.

But maybe, the problem lies in the fact,
That to you, she was never a person at all,
Certainly not, she couldn’t have been,
For who could destroy a fellow of their own species,
A member of their evolutionary kin?
But she was a person,
And look at what you did!
Or did no one ever tell you,
that murder was a sin?

You killed her.

And now, in death she waits,
She waits for that last shred of strength,
She waits for an ounce of leftover faith,
She waits for the change to come,
The day she will finally believe she is worth being saved,

And once she grants herself the permissions;

To grieve her own death,
To mourn her past life,
To pay her sanity respect,
To will herself to live—not merely exist,
That is when her resurrection begins.

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