i listened well when you first told me.
you were crying then, and i placed my hands
over your hair to appease you.
you said you were abused, and the stigma still
clings like clams to a rock, like parasites to
an intestine.
i could have believed you until i have seen
you and the abuser together in the park of your
dreams, still close, and sharing.
was it ice cream? or a bed? or was it the sweater?
i can't exactly remember. But i learned my lesson.
Trust is seldom. Truth is a tooth. I am better
all alone. You lied and i still want to believe you.
You miss your abuser. You love to be with him again.
what an irony of life. How tragic can it be!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem