Objects

If sheets could talk,

what would they tell?

Fibers would unlock

nights of pure hell.

If beds could testify,

with every sigh and groan,

what they called a lie,

When she wasn’t alone,

If doors could swear,

The creaks would ring,

secrets they declare

with every swing,

If pillows could expose,

the tears they absorb,

when the night slows,

you’d be abhorred.

If panties could scream

as they’re ripped aside,

torn from the seam,

As she felt inside.

If clocks could voice,

more than just a tick

they’d show his choice,

and it’d make you sick.

If lamps could enlighten,

the things he would do,

it would sure frighten

everyone you knew.

If windows could shield,

the hurt with the pane,

would it still yield,

this he said/she said game

But objects can’t talk

and we are all disputed

about how we dress, act or walk

when the flaw is deep-rooted.

I’m not an object,

I can still speak.

I’m not your suspect,

I’m no longer weak.

I am not at fault,

The system is defective.

Who’d choose assault?

Truth’s not subjective.