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Dirt
by
Susan Rippe
A woman gives herself, All of herself,
giving her heart and soul.
Submitting her dignity, losing her pride.
Pleasing a man
who treats her like dirt.
A man Alive for the moment,
scheming by the day,
to Suck out her Life.
Stripping her of all respect,
her personality ceases to exist.
A man made of flesh and blood,
He takes from her and never gives,
except for the back of his hand.
Proclaiming his love, his actions differ,
he gives her heartache, misery, tears and pain.
He gives her the grit and the grime
that come from the dirt.
He gives her the salt from her tears.
The emotional baggage,
and the deep wound that comes with her fears.
This man takes of her life a piece of her soul,
leaving her broken and battered.
For she will never be whole,
as long as the devil in man exists.
She will feel like nothing, a mere facet,
a particle of dirt that
he scatters along his journey.
She will never be,
the woman she was,
the blossoming soul
full of laughter and love.
For a man has taken
more than she has.
Taking her very being
that once had made her whole.
She will wander in life
torn and tattered,
dreaming of life,
before Satan's spawn,
had come to her,
with the greatest intention,
to treat her like Dirt.
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