Branded
Why didn’t my mother tell me
about the man who would brand me?
The one who would enter, leave
re-enter and abandon me?
Isn’t there an ancient scripture for young
incomprehensible souls? Where
they can sit and read
from feeble lying scrolls?
Why didn’t my father warn me
About the ways of his kind?
I cannot not observe a love
that is true and learn
why it is not mine?
Why did the hot iron burn
so deeply, dearly and deranged
as to scorn the perfect skin
and leave initials to blame?
Tracing fingers over what wards other off,
I try to forget his aura, and seep into sloth.
I do not beg gods
for strength and chances anew.
I do not ask forgiveness
or accept what I should do.
I do not accept defeat
nor blame those that bore me;
Nay will I wait for the day
when the butcher boy will adore me.
about the man who would brand me?
The one who would enter, leave
re-enter and abandon me?
Isn’t there an ancient scripture for young
incomprehensible souls? Where
they can sit and read
from feeble lying scrolls?
Why didn’t my father warn me
About the ways of his kind?
I cannot not observe a love
that is true and learn
why it is not mine?
Why did the hot iron burn
so deeply, dearly and deranged
as to scorn the perfect skin
and leave initials to blame?
Tracing fingers over what wards other off,
I try to forget his aura, and seep into sloth.
I do not beg gods
for strength and chances anew.
I do not ask forgiveness
or accept what I should do.
I do not accept defeat
nor blame those that bore me;
Nay will I wait for the day
when the butcher boy will adore me.
Kimberly Cremens
is a Junior double majoring in Secondary Education and English Literature. While she thoroughly enjoys all the wonders Literature brings, she occupies her time with Women's Rugby, an array of shenanigans and secretly writing poetry that she would never dare submit if it wasn't for her roommate.
