mental abuse (Remove filter)
When His Words Become Hands
His words could become sharp as corners
And trap you there
Flailing in his grasp
They could pinch your skin
Until you cried
And cried
Throughout your shifts
They could catch your wrists and stop you
From moving on
From moving
They could lock the doors, no leaving
They could shame you and shrink you
They could come flying in from an open window,
A buzzing phon...
Monday 8th March 2021 7:27 pm
Recent Comments
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Civilities
30 minutes ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Stats (To be continued)
1 hour ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Sonnet: Imigh Hotovely, Imigh Smál Damnaithe! Imigh is Póg mo Thóin! [Out Hotovely, Out Damned Spot! Out and Kiss my Arse!]
1 hour ago
Rolph David on The Anchorage Gambit – Reflexive Control
1 hour ago
Graham Sherwood on Stats (To be continued)
1 hour ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Tikumtok
2 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
2 hours ago
Nigel Astell on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
8 hours ago
John Coopey on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
10 hours ago
John F Keane on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
11 hours ago