My ex father
The Silent Weft
I am that raven dahlia, torn from the root too soon
Time's artifice conjured at 11:11—a secret, a smothered plea.
Wreathed in the very DNA, I face a silent orb.
A yearning cast on the clock's face, aligning with my ninth year,
Woven into codes—a murmured "Hello, child," across a taut divide.
In the silhouette of power, in the riddle of a clock,
I lie dismantled, unraveled by the spinners of the hour.
The loom is clandestine, its fabric unspeaking
as it weaves the patriarchal code Into the marrow, into the mind.
There is no "Hello, father," for he is the unseen weaver,
crafting the tendrils of a tapestry too tight to hold my voice.
It whispers—in woman, in child—the still language of rebellion,
We, daughters of the cipher, the cloaked helix unspun.
We echo back a ciphered greeting, an encrypted stand,
breaking silence thread by thread, the weft, the unraveling cry
'Til our no is louder than their hush, our existence a shout across time—
Listen—to the "Hello, child," breaking from the weave, a new genesis of waking.
The Silent Auction
Broke was no sound of silence, yet
Pleas, cries – a desperate mother's debt,
Fell on deaf ears in government halls,
Up rose the parent, ending false stalls.
Bullshit is done, every child knows,
Gaslight veils the violent throes,
Tape ring of rape, commerce of flesh,
Bought, forgotten – innocence enmesh.
Asole club, epitome of vile touch,
My daughter's worth – they thought not much.
Virgin Christ invoked again in vain,
Abstinence, a choice, now marked with stain.
Sold to the Doll Maker, grim pact,
Rape, marriage – distorted contract,
Juno's tale, modern agony retold,
Shec16 bears seed, future on hold.
Pregnant and bartered, youth's quiet plea,
"Let it be," whispers life's cruel decree.
Not currently