By Wendy Norman

I linger, feeling the dust settle in
Weighed down with guilty sin
I used to sparkle and dance
Now I walk in a trance

Abandoned and worn, thrown in a heap
With my withered soul buried so deep
I wander in circles of confusion
My mind seeing illusions

Twisted words of control
Sink hold into my soul
He tells me he only sees me as his girl
But already my psyche he’s trampled and hurled

Into his bin that is laden with sin
Decaying the layers of hope trapped within
His distorted ego and superficial charm
Only weakened me and brang me harm

My former self is but a ghost
A hungry masochist if now my host
Wearing defeat as a cloak of honour
Slaughter of the soul is now my genre

It’s heavy and dark in here; I need the light
Embracing armour, I take up the fight
I want a garment of salvation
I want to leave hell and damnation

Release my warrior goddess buried within
Wearing drabness tricks the modest
Let me rise strong and victorious

I want to leave this mess
Be hopeful and sure, dare to want more

This dress fits like a glove; it was meant for me

Woman in red has now just arrived
Wanton warrior presence is now not contrived

Reins and spurs release my speech
A resolution must be reached
Forget that toxic warmth of old
He is not worth soul self sold

Rising higher now I break those ties

Now my truer empire will rise

 

Photography by Carl Mero