
I am the ghost of the girl you killed
Over and over when you silenced me
Every time you deprived me of peace
Told me to be nice, say nothing of anything
That is not nice even as it happened to me.
I am the ghost of the girl not allowed
To cry in the night, in pain, in fear.
Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about.
I am the ghost of the woman you killed
Over and over, when you denied me
The right to be myself, to have my feelings
When you shut down my thoughts,
Ignored my needs, turned my pain
And my despair into irrelevant nothing.
Locked me in the house for my own good
Then in the attic since I could not be trusted
To act in my own best interests.
Saying only you knew what was right for me
Only you could say what was good and proper.
You said nothing is more tragically romantic
Than the untimely death of a beautiful
Young woman. And how you smiled
When you said that to me.
I am the ghost of the woman you killed
And I have all the time in the world
For my revenge.
(Art by Dr Abbey, poem inspired by the art, and a bit of a snarl at Edgar Allen Poe, who really did say something to the effect that the death of a beautiful young woman was the only real subject for literature)