The Colour of My Grief is Red

This is a prose-poem

THE COLOUR OF MY GRIEF IS RED

I left the redness of the womb wanting to scream.

I soon learnt

As my mum turn out

All lights, turn her back firmly on me, shut all door.

To only darkness inside a silence.

I squeeze my eyes so tight

Blocking my throat, sending sickness into my stomach.

Squeeze tight I see red again.

I grow, used to no tears.

I cut myself.

Red fantasised me

Watching it, putting fingers in it, drinking it.

Somehow it reminded I was alive

As I so wanted to die.

I saw, was shown pictures that sent death into my guts.

Pictures named porn by my detached soul.

Pictures where red is all I knew

Red at the ripping apart of bodies, red at their silent screaming.

Red being clean away from the image but always there

In my nightmares.

I was told it was what sex was

It was fun, it is rather just fantasy

Everyone does it.

I saw red as I wanted to look away, only to stare more and more.

I could not move, I could not breathe.

I had forgotten that I was breathing.

Later laying dead in bed

Images of women, children getting pokes, mouths fill of stuff, dead eyes

Seeing pain that can’t be, but is everywhere.

I see it replayed on my ceiling – seeing my body poked, stuffed, pushed around

Surrounded by red.

I don’t cry.

Years later, I am that porn image.

I am being poked in every hole in my body

Including I didn’t know I had

Holes nowhere big enough to get poked.

It goes red.

I pushed into positions from those pictures

From pictures going back from Grecian vases to gonzo sex.

No natural position, just position to send extreme pain, extreme terror.

Red is all I can know

I cannot cry, I cannot scream, I cannot say no, I cannot complain.

Red is all I can know,

By Christ

It all that is left for me.

I am now what they call the whore

The prostitute

As I stuffed fill of their hate, their fear, their contempt, their rage

As I am raped to almost dead

Beaten as a game

I told in stories with no end of how to murder a whore.

I have nothing left but

Seeing red.

I am inside a role

That makes no sense

A role

That poisons my skin

A role

Where I have no say, no rights.

I struck inside this moment

Seeing red

Forgetting how, why I got here.

I am just the whore

The living porn-toy.

I cannot know I have a life

Outside this moment

That is dangerous.

All I know is

Red.

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