don't you hear me,
when I beg for you to stop?
when I beg for your hands to stop touching every part of me.
but you don't listen.
maybe it only sounds like a whisper to him.
so I said it louder and louder,
but not once had he stopped.
not even a flinch in his features.
I knew it wasn't a whisper seeping through my lips.
it had been screams.
but he still didn't hear me.
I pried and pried.
cried and cried,
louder and louder.
but it wasn't enough.
his penis had only gotten harsher going inside me.
in and out.
I concentrated my thoughts on the ceiling.
my eyes had closed,
but only until his fingers forced me to look at him.
he told me I had found pleasure in it but neither me or my body did.
it was only from the moans he had pushed out of me.
only a natural thing for a woman to do.
but it didn't feel natural...
not to be so physically tortured like this.
my body ached,
my head too.
I knew it wasn't natural being forced into this.
it just wasn't.
I wasn't that naïve.
but what could I do?
I always asked myself that.
every time I had told myself I had done everything I could.
after all,
I screamed from the top of my lungs rubbing my throat dry.
I can still taste his hand over my lips.
I cried until none were left in my body,
only dry wines left.
but didn't you hear me?
didn't you hear me saying your name in a beg?
begging and begging,
crying and crying,
for you to just stop.
just stop.
didn't you hear me?
YOU ARE READING
my lover poets
Romancethe thoughts about love. Simplicity form yet addictive to consume your mind over. Love isn't always perfect. (I know I'm not a perfect writer in poetry, but I thought it would be fun to write out some thoughts I have, and things I've learned int...
