To Let

You hid me in the backshed
forced my hand
and held my head
beside the big black copper pot
the one i used to make imaginery witches brew
you
made me promise i would never tell.

YELL

smell
oh well
might as well
carry it with me forever.

that big black pot
smoked it
broke it
carried it everywhere
and choked it
with hands that held your pulsing selfishness
regret
forget

TO LET
one vacant shed with too many memories.

© ryan

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Tags:

poetry, writing, abuse, writer, sexual, poet, ryan and frumphood