The Coward of Charlemagne

The Coward of Charlemagne lies in his eyes;

in the eyes that locked on me like chains to a prisoner,

that prisoner being entirely innocent and seeing four walls slam and surround them for years to come.

In the eyes that saw tears dispersing from my eyes but

wedged in his fingers and forced my mouth to gape anyway.

The Coward of Charlemagne lies in his hands;

so heavily in his hands,

the hands that allowed his prudence to dash and divide into folly.

In the hands that made his strength unbearable as his

piqued palms cursed my body and climbed at my jeans 

and stabbed at my waist and burgled my breast

forcing me to meet frailty. 

In the hands that started digging six-feet when i tried to run, 

that continued to break through layers of skin to bruise my bone.

The Coward of Charlemagne lies in his tongue;

in the tongue that spoke of his fixation on my scent 

when he decided to cage me, he made sure to lock with a key.

In the tongue that trespassed around my mouth despite my desire to keep

my property private,

in the tongue that ignored when i screamed 'No'.

I will never sing a hymn for the Coward of Charlemagne

and I will never give in to the despair he wrapped around me like snakes to a vine.

The Coward of Charlemagne will never

let me go,

and it's not consent if you make me afraid

to say no.