It was hard for her
Struggling against his steady arms.
She saw red
But nothing was passionate.

His smooth hands held onto her body
Leaving marks upon her skin.
Each finger
Tracing a word he wanted her to spell.

With her limbs
He wanted her to conform,
Be something beautiful,
He wished for something beautiful of his own.

He had gotten mad
When she told him that she wasn't his anymore.
He pushed her into a storybook
And saw her name atop the page.

His story with her name
His,
Her,
Her he wanted
Only he could not have.

Her was she,
Without he,
Only s.
But she liked it.
He made her more,
She wanted less