06-04-2017, 12:00 AM
Character portrait of someone I love:
I am (name).
My love is tainted,
by my own tortured past.
I've known murder, death, and torture.
Death was preferred,
but I'm not dead yet.
Growing up as a sex slave,
I was abused and hurt,
in ways so profound,
it would make angels cry.
Once, I had found an angel.
In her wings did I remember home.
Fear and hope arose,
and I knew not what to do.
I chose The Road Taken,
returning to the chains,
that have kept me enslaved,
my entire life.
The angel still visits me though,
every visit she makes,
she looks more bruised and beaten.
There was a time when she hadn't returned,
and so I wondered where she had been.
I took off my chains in search of her.
Eventually I found her,
on the brink of death herself,
I knelt down beside her and wept,
as I realized since I wouldn't leave hell,
she fought hell itself.
Both she and I took roads not taken that day.
The Road Not Taken
by Robert FrostTwo roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was grassy and wanted wear;Though as for that the passing thereHad worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally layIn leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I kept the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to way,I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.
I am (name).
My love is tainted,
by my own tortured past.
I've known murder, death, and torture.
Death was preferred,
but I'm not dead yet.
Growing up as a sex slave,
I was abused and hurt,
in ways so profound,
it would make angels cry.
Once, I had found an angel.
In her wings did I remember home.
Fear and hope arose,
and I knew not what to do.
I chose The Road Taken,
returning to the chains,
that have kept me enslaved,
my entire life.
The angel still visits me though,
every visit she makes,
she looks more bruised and beaten.
There was a time when she hadn't returned,
and so I wondered where she had been.
I took off my chains in search of her.
Eventually I found her,
on the brink of death herself,
I knelt down beside her and wept,
as I realized since I wouldn't leave hell,
she fought hell itself.
Both she and I took roads not taken that day.
The Road Not Taken
by Robert FrostTwo roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was grassy and wanted wear;Though as for that the passing thereHad worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally layIn leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I kept the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to way,I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.