by Motavenda Melchizedek

She wonders

can she still be pretty

under layers of goo

and ages of belief

that the filth

and the horror

were her own

She wonders

can she still sing

after so much screaming

and so many

voiceless days

And can she

move and

dance about

and feel

her rhythm

after only

feeling his

It is all there

all of her is


and knowing that

she lifts her head

and turns to face

another day