Compulsive

write it down
write it down
my heart says to me
write down every scintilla
dirty as it may be
the truth has to out
who but you to do it
don’t pass the buck
or wait around
don’t just stand there
sit.
and write
so we may hear
of things unspoken
and so dear
of illicit love
and mindless sex
of casual comments
the kind that wreck
of pain’s sweet prison
that heals as it cuts
of a whole lifetime gone
in a series of ‘buts’
write about the friendly neighbour
who had to pull at cheeks
of nubile girls at Holi
they bore red marks for weeks
and write about the grandfather
who visited once a way
shared a bed with a little girl
put his hands on her
for play
and write about the perv
on the cycle
who grabbed at an innocent breast
clad in pretty pink
it was
the girl the breast the rest
and write about her one true love
who treated her like a whore
who kissed her because he owed her
then said she asked for more
and write about the numerous
men
who turn around and leer
who laugh when you swear or stare
maybe they sense the fear
men
who brush past you 'unknowingly'
always not meaning to
desperate starved pathetic men
twisted minds one would assume
surely this is not new
the tale i narrate today
every girl woman you know
has felt violated in
some way
a remark a touch
a dirty e mail
haven’t we seen it all
the evolved man is
not even a myth
he never existed at all.

For Thushara. Who said she did not want flowers in my poetry.