I have a little friend,

who became a need for me. 

He was, in hours of crisis,

 my most faithful attendee.


When all my doors were shut at night,

and locks clicked into place,

he’d pry at one loose, squeaky shutter

and through it squeeze his face.


“Dear friend, I see this pain of yours,

it breaks my heart in two.

Dear child, unless you let me do my work,

this pain will devour you.”


At these words I raise the window

and open the shutters of my heart.

With a purr of triumph, my friend

jumps in and does his part.


First he pets me, coaxing gently.

A soothing song he sings. 

Till slyly, with a wink my keys

 he seizes, and a bell he rings.


“You poor idiot child,”

He begins to leer.

“There’s no hope of escape for you;

wallow in your fear.”


He draws a bath of salty tears,

and then pulls out a whip. 

He tears my shirt off my back;

my hand he tries to grip.


A chase begins; he pursues me

round and round the room.

His voice rises; the bell grows louder,

the walls begin to loom.


Exhausted, I fall to the floor,

red ribbons on my back.

My attendant draws me to the bath –

 all I see is black.


He promises me that all my pain

and guilt will disappear

if I punish myself for my transgressions

and give in to my fear.


All the wounds are infected,

and with deep shame I sting.

My friend guides me to a secret place

and gives me a sharp thing.


Then he seizes me,

a word of advice to lend:

“Dear girl, let me have my way.

Accept the kisses of a friend.”



I am not strong, I cannot hide

from shame, I couldn’t refuse.

My friend takes my hand and a blade.

By morning, I’ve been used.



Blearily, I remember

how good those kisses felt.  Yet

when I look around my room,

my soul begins to melt.


My friend destroyed the cozy room.

The furniture’s overturned.  

My childhood dolls, he ripped apart,

gouged out their eyes, and burned.


He took the gifts my parents gave

and flung them in the trash.

The delicate art of my developing heart,

has been shattered with a crash.


The pages of my Holy Book,

given me when I was young,

are ripped, torn – I cannot read them;

to the fire they’ve been flung.



Shadows fill that room all day.

Fearful someone will see,

I sit behind locked doors and cry

for the mess he made of me.





Knocking.  My child?

I will not force my way in.

But know that I long to be with you

no matter the destruction or sin.


I open the door slow, unsure;

what condemnation will I face?

But this Man’s eyes are focused on me,

not the wreckage of the place.



Little one, it hurts me

that your heart’s in so much pain.

Your spirit’s aching from beatings

and showers of life’s rain.


Little one, listen to this Voice,

I’ll tell you something true.

But I won’t force you to believe;

believing’s up to you.


Yes, I know you made choices

you wouldn’t make again. 

But another took the punishment,

the scars, the shame, the pain.


Look at my hands, my side.

Nails were what cut me.

Can you believe this sacrifice

was enough to set you free?


That there is no longer need

for whips, scars, and bleeding?

Child, don’t harm yourself any longer,

into the light I am leading.


With tears, I throw myself

into His open arms

and let His soothing presence

secure me from all harms. 


Lord, I believe, I know

Your death has truly set me free. 

But my friend is quite persistent,

he’s coming back for me.


With strength I have not,

my new friend does declare,

“Do not be afraid of this demon,

in you he has no share.


I’ll wait with you, through the night

till this scoundrel does appear.

Should he ever show his face,

I’ll show him the meaning of fear.


For child, he is but a wraith,

a vapor of spirit mist.

A wave of seeming strength,

but no true power over those he has kissed.”


So comforted, we draw up chairs.

My Shepherd lights a fire.

Holding hands, we wait for evening shadows

to fall, dark and dire.


Though uncertain, a peace is thru me running,

I am no longer on my own.

When next my little friend appears,

I will not be alone.






3 thoughts on “Kisses

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