Blood Oranges (Violence Against Women)

domestic violence

The arm that pulls now pushes
The eyes that once glimmered like tangerines
Now are ripened like blood oranges.
The body that used to dance in percussion
Is now a crash test dummy. Yet she is slaved to him
She will always be his naked Barbie.
The lipstick hurricane. The muse of his entropy
And the mannequin to his clenched palms
His crashing fists.

She search for a savior to save her
From this harrowing hell, to transform
Her eyes to sweet oranges, the world she used
To know. A world filled with shining knights
And the chivalrous palm, and the chorus
Of her body pleading like a banshee
And she longing to be everything he wants her to be
The mantilla-costumed whore at his confessional
Joan of Arc on his saddle and a woman
In every dimension screaming his name.
To make a nuclear bomb out of her body.

And a man that became the dark knight
Ravages her body. Little wounds, cuts above the eye
Rosy patches and blunted love. A woman
Who only wanted love in medium and matter
Caught to the hands of a monster. She screams like
A squealing animal searching for an exit.
And an open door summoning her to save herself
And she bolting the lock. She will dance,
She will sing, she will atone for her sin
Of loving a man more than herself.

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