He was a man, like all the rest,
or so my mamma said.
The violet and green that decorate my body,
a sign of his devotion and affection and nothing more.
Or so my mamma said.
He was a man, like all the rest,
a sign of his devotion and affection and nothing more.
The stabbing, crawling of my flesh, a reflection of his love.
He was a man, like all the rest,
with fists in place of open palms.
The stabbing crawling of my flesh, a reflection of his love.
When he raped me, when he beat me,
a reflection of his love and nothing more.