Refuge the grass eaters by Merryn Juliette

I am not a silent poet

Don’t think your spit will offend me

don’t think your abuse will shame

That harsh words will cut and bleed

they are nothing, but less of the same

No your shoves wont fall me flat …

won’t curl me to a ball

a red right-hand to slap

when my feet firm on ‘your’ soil

And my very name you use to curse

you would deny me food and bed

Yet I sigh a prayer,  Oh God…

in squalor I lay my head

For it is not a dead mother’s breast . .

hacked and laid to ground

It is not a young sisters neck

.. softly sliced, don’t make a sound

Rough men between blooded thighs…

with rag shoved down my throat

Not the smell of three day flesh

bloated bodies, roll past the boat

And though you call me all kinds of filth

I  have eaten worse filth than…

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