Cry
I was a bud,
Awaiting bloom on the sunshine day
Saving my fragile tenderness for the hopeful season of bliss.
But …it was a fateful moment I was destined for,
A moment when some fingers scratched my petals with lust,
Some half-greedy half-maniac quick fingers
Squeezed my growth pressing me hard against the dust,
Then one by one they tore away my each gay frill
Leaving me just as bones wrapped in skin,
And …yet I was supposed to survive at will!
I was a smile,
Impatient to be worn by a radiant face in time
Preparing to bounce off infectiously from face to face.
But…a dry twig with its thorny plate ripped me totally.
Each thorn pierced through my quiet plump skin.
Each brush of the twig ensured it sucked my juice brutally.
I bled like hell, and now I lay bereft of all splendour.
What splendour? I did not even have my cloth on.
I was left naked in front of a watering tongue as ruddy meal,
And …yet the world demands my survival that too at will!
I was a virgin cloth,
Freshly out of the weaver’s loom…just drenched
In multi-coloured dye for scattering bountiful brilliance unfound.
But …a greedy needle arrived from somewhere,
Penetrating my chest inside out without a bit of sound.
Unripe for use I was then but a cluster of thread,
And yet in haste they wanted to wear me around.
By and by my entire body was peeled off.
How I lasted I do not remember albeit I know,
My future that once was as bright as any others was sealed off.
My destiny bartered me in a nasty deal.
And … yet my torn existence was made to survive at will!
Who I am today I do not know.
And who I will be is out of consideration.
That I once was something is now today just a mere recollection,
Shadowed by the montage of torture and abuse’s impression.
I live today in front of you,
Though my growth is unseen.
You can find me all about the place,
With an inside of lulling silence hungry and lean.
Now remember my sight amongst those you have seen…
I am alive…still dead,
‘Save me, save me’ is what today my existence does mean...
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I love this. It's heartbreaking, yet so true. The metaphors are beautiful. The first stanza is especially. My favorite line is this:
I was a bud,
Awaiting bloom on the sunshine day
So sad. I actually like the rhyming of the last stanza. It's pretty, and it gives it a nice twist.
This is a beautiful poem.
-Elise
hi,
thank you for reading my poem and liking it. it seems that the last para is bothering most readers so i will try to find a suitable substitute to it.
thank you all for bringing this point into my notice.
This is such a difficult topic to write about, and i think you did it really well. The first three stanza's are really beautiful, but i agree with Misty Lynn..it would be better without the rhyme in the last stanza! It's so sad...
. I really like this poem...bravo! *claps*
There were a few colloquial (less formal) terms that seemed out of place- the biggest among them is "bled like hell." That's not a metaphor, just an idiom, and an overused one at that. Try to do something more creative there- then it will fit in better with the rest of the poem. That aside, the first three stanzas were excellent, although the last lines of each one just aren't doing it for me. I don't think they're really metaphorical enough to fit in with the first three. I kind of like the last stanza, but a rewrite could make it amazing. Excellent work!
thank you for the appreciation. and as for the last stanza well i needed to have it to explain the first three stanzas and get the meaning of the metaphor direcvtly. as for rhyming it, well it was unintended and if it feels a bit off track i will try to edit it and get it done better.
but thanx again for all your suggestions 
The first three stanzas held the most feeling to me, and those are the ones I would remember. I liked the way you ended the first three the same, then switched on the last one. It is beautiful, somehow, in spite of the disgrace of the deed.
-C
I liked it, it was very good. The first three stanzas=excellent. Beautiful metaphors. However-why did you start rhyming this at the last stanza? It's important to be consistant in your poetry. Anyway I don't even think you need the last stanza, the first three carry it beautifully