She's Not Your Toy

If you think this is worth seeing, please fave it ^^

If you'd like to view the second episode of WordofChen Live to hear my reading and singing style go here: [link]

Author's Comment:

Alright, so as I stated this is a poem dealing with 'rape'.

I chose not to use the traditional portrayal of rape involving lots of violence and struggles and screams, because the trauma that the victim feels generally causes them to clam up instead.

As one intelligent individual quoted, most of the rapes are never reported, most know their attacker and it can occur anywhere anytime.

It was for that reason that I chose to portray a scene where the victim knows the attacker (i'll leave the relationship up to you) and is basically unable to fight back because the trauma of the event is so hard that she can't even put it into words. Instead during the event she just escapes into her own mind, completely emotionless and dead.

The originally piece was going to be longer, but I shortened it because the most emotional scene, whilst definitely jerking tears since I made myself cry will acting out the scenario in my head...was waaay too long and split the meaning of the poem turning it into a story (which I didn't want). Therefore I left it as is and I hope you all enjoy it.

This will probably be my last dark piece for awhile, I think I'll be working with love songs and other stuff for awhile xD Community needs more fun after this and I intend to provide ^^

-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates

Other Poems by Me:
Sorry I'm A Man Sorry I'm A Man:

He stands there naked
A blank-faced label
No features
No face
He is not an individual
He is exactly what you make him to be

The product of your misguided hate
The product of your personal prejudice
Caught blind and shackled
Voice stripped and throat cut
On knees and hands
He crawls beneath a slanderous hail

"Let they who are without sin, be the first to cast a stone"
Then you must all be innocent, unblackened and pure

Instead what I see
Is not angel wings and a white halo
Instead what I see
Is your silent profanity
Twisted obscene mask of humanity

Beneath the righteous sword of a figure of justice
Lies a Where Angels Play Where Angels Play:

A lonely spark appears before me tonight
amongst the struggles deep inside of me...
Should I give in, will I breathe in?

How much more can I be forced to take
before my soul breaks?
Shards crashing into me
letting me know I am alive
If only
I am barely breathing...

The moon lights my pathway
deep in dark, where we will fade
I've walked past the archway
Where angels will play...

The warmest touch, upon my skin
Wings that glow with sacred light, from deep within
They have come to take me back, to where I've been
Gone away into the winds, my voice forever lingering

Do I alone escape this and find my peace
wi Why I Hate My Life Why I Hate My Life:

Despite the fact that I'm a trained professional
I have to work odd-jobs making deliveries on a motorcycle

The only girl who I ever loved
was just using me as a replacement

The only girl that actually likes me
runs a bar and took over my house

I don't have the guts to kick her out
so I end up sleeping at an abandoned church

I've recently picked up a strange rash
it hurts and I have to wear sleeves to cover it

My only friends are a guy that never comes out from a forest
and a girl that's always looking to steal the meager possessions I have

Everything sucks really
because the one person who cared about me
is My Beautiful Filth My Beautiful Filth:

We'll start with the rose petals
scattered lavishly across the bed
A symbolic collage of my broken thoughts
like memories crushed and thrown into the winds
they lie where they fall, forever forgotten...

Tacks and nails shall line the floor!
A perfect representation of my painful steps
To walk forward was to suffer
to stand still was to endure
Like the insults thrown at me, like the physical abuse
they drive their way into my skin and remain embedded
Unable to be removed except by force

And now comes the masterpiece, the perfect finishing touch
A wall of words and photographs depicting my sorrows and greivance

Other Literature by Me:
Mercenary 1-1 MERCENARY

Chapter 1: Blood is Beauty

Release One: Pages 1 - 3

THE COLD AIR in Baron Rorke's study did little to calm his nerves. He was expecting visitors this night and they were not the best of company. A shiver of dread ran down his spine and he spent most of the twilight hours staring out of a large window which stood behind his writing desk. It was amazing, he felt, how quickly a man could become attached to a life of luxury; only to be made painfully aware of how easy it was to lose it. War was always a frightening thing, even more so when one had the knowledge and sense to realise that it was no longer an exercise of glory, but a si