My Guilt
I lived many lives
As many as it’s possible
I’ve visited so many places
Different countries with different cultures
I met so many people I can barely remember
However, sometimes I’ve made terrible encounters
With usurpers exploiting my innocence and beauty
They were emotional predators and abusers
My guilt was my beauty
My guilt was my uniqueness
My guilt was my innocence
My guilt was my naiveness
IÂ trusted them
I’ve been torn apart
Without apology
Without pity
Without humanity
Without morality
In their opinion, those were the ways to love
The abuses were standing behind a fake effigy of love
A love made of crimson and sinister tones
A love made of manipulations
A love made of abuses
A love made of pains
Being my soul and my body ripped to pieces
I feel a survivor and a relic of my old self.
Esther Racah
