The Rope

The rope tugged at her,

And she moved.

The rope shook,

So, she stopped.

The rope dragged,

So, she crawled on all fours.

 

She could not see

She could not taste

She could not hear

All she could do

Was feel the rope tied to her throat.

 

Some days it did nothing,

Some days it hurt to breathe.

But still she listened.

Obediently, day in...

Day out.

 

The rope was ever there.

She did not know how it forced her hands to move,

Or how words would get pulled from her

With the slightest tug.

How many steps did it get her to take?

How much food did it force her to hate?

 

It was just a rope...

What a cruel, hateful rope.

She thought of cutting her head.

Would she really be free?

It would not let her,

The rope would force the knife from her hand -

She was sure of it.

But maybe...

 

People would compliment her rope,

Oh, the successes it brings.

They were envious.

How did she manage to obtain such a rope?

Would those successes be gone

If she got rid of it?

 

So, she let it drag her,

Stop her, move her,

Force her, blame her,

Hate her.

She wished they never had to learn

What it was like to have that rope around her throat.

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