A NOTE HER GHOST WROTE

I'm the lamb lions scared to tomb 
the 18th year I’d left mum's womb.
Men made my muse to ink this piece,
to whom may be concerned with this.

That night, pain sliced my tender heart
and self-esteem was shred apart
'cause grooms of doom besieged the room
and struck my dove with thorny broom.

That night, their libidinous glees
barred their hearts to my sea of pleas,
and made my mind a heavy brick
broken to seven like a week.

That night, cried I for ease of death;
shouldn't soul from flesh run marathon
so I’d cease to sense their wicked breath
on evil queue for turn to have me torn.

That night, my pride was held captive
so soreness stole my soul as thief.
That night was gone with all its gore;
its stigma stings forevermore.

Last night, I'd gulped insecticide -
swept my soul to bin of suicide
but now I gaze back at the world
and wish I'd stood in spite all odd.

Poem by Sunday Abegunde
IG @SpeakingPen