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Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts
You learned early to stand next to the back door, prepared to make a quick exit. So many things could have triggered that final flight-- the constant haystack slumping your camel back was so heavy. Trigger warning: mild profanity and mentions of rape and violence
Prologue Most people wonder how I became Queen. How a cocoa coloured woman like me became the ruler of a patriarchal, chauvinistic, post-colonial society? The truth? I did it by killing. One: A Made Woman Gulf of Zula, Ethiopia Several wars have raged between the Ethiopians and Arabs, leading to the seizure of the land by the Arabs and enslavement of the native tribes. Present Day I go to the gods every day. I was raised that way after all. My whole life has always predetermined. Where I have been, has never been a surprise and where I'm going is even less so. Still though there are times I am content. I live a life of comfort and opulence. I can have everything, well almost, everything I want. I am a wife, a daughter in-law, friend, and one day, hopefully a mother. What more do I need? Yet. I still go to the temple every day for hours. When I was a child,
I used to sing to the sky, I never thought anyone was listening, Or that somewhere up there, Gabriel was Leaning over too far To hear, after too many beers, Until he dropt Face-first to the floor. The pages they write Will never tell of how I Wiped cuts and scrapes From your mass of shapes Because it’s not a form They understand. Trigger warning: mentions of blood
Every night I die and I am Reborn again I shred pieces of you The ones you hate about yourself It’s a painful metamorphosis Shredding my feathers and fears Bleeding you out Droplets of blue In the morning when The dawn kisses the sky And the morning birds hum Our song I am reborn again I am whole again I
I sing when the storm comes, Because the fields and streams and wind farms That fly past the window Need to dance. Everything becomes witchcraft Where there is rain, And on the other side of Thunder claps The sky cries for me, My Daughter. have you ever seen a butterfly
go on a rampage? it’s a sight for sore eyes or a sorry sight for sympathetic eyes her picturesque wings fluttering rapidly in the wind her delicate body swaying trashing to escape and the giant roams with his butterfly catchers swatting, seizing, snatching prying, abducting, invading but if only the butterfly just submitted accepted her inferiority trusted the cycle of life relished in how she was wanted Being the age you were when we met,
brings me to the door of reflection. A door that’s been locked for some time now. Unlocking rust, to a dark room with cobwebs covering your security and masculinity. Tinted windows and empty walls. I remember the shiny items you used to lure me in here. Now I understand why you pursued me, reaching for any light to steal. Silence
Humanity choked itself with its need to grow, simplify, and automate. The air filled with acrid rain, polluting and stinging her exposed body. She suffered in silence, withering in agony, trying to keep up with humanity’s quest to rule the planet. She tried so hard, sending out warnings, but her body quaked, sending humanity’s buildings tumbling onto her back. Still, they would not stop. Then, she retched scalding acid, it dripped down her bosom, and people fled screaming. She coughed and choked, to no avail. Gaea sucked in a long, desperate breath. With it, nature retreated into her body and disappeared. Her skin cracked, and her tears ran dry. The people moaned, sobbed and pleaded to their gods, whispering apologies and empty promises if only Gaea would return nature’s spirit. Their pleas were unanswered. Gaea was finally at peace. All that remained was her devastated carcass. Humanity fell. The prayers ended, and silence, emptiness, and nothingness replaced the cries and prayers. I must have been born with a vivid imagination and a creative nature that would ensure
reading had an overarching importance in my life. I read ‘Gone With The Wind’ for the first time when I was eleven years old, and then reread it many times thereafter. Unfortunately for my mother, I was a difficult breech birth: years later I would joke with her that the long and challenging labour was due to me reading GWTW in the womb. “I should have had the forethought to close that heavy tome as I made my way out into the real world,” I remarked to Mom when home on a visit from the city, “but I was intensely engrossed in the burning of Atlanta!” Growing up in a large family, my sisters and I had a love-hate relationship, typical of many children. I was a terrible tease with them; I was the proverbial thorn in their sides. However, for the record they teased and taunted me too; in fact, they ganged up on me on many an occasion, a middle child, and the only boy in a house full of sisters (several years later another sister and finally a brother were born but were like a second family for my parents). For example, they often insisted that I was adopted: making the best of a bad situation I imagined there had been a mistake at the hospital between Prince Andrew and myself, and my rightful and regal place was at Buckingham Palace in Jolly Olde England. As well, a favourite trick of my sisters was to try to pull the towel off me that was wrapped around my waist, when I was either on the way into the washroom to have a bath or on the way out. I was mortified that my sisters would get sight of ‘the family jewels’, in all their glory and magnificence. It is generally known to be true that boys are testy and odorous little creatures, but girls are just plain mean and spiteful when they have a bone to pick (and they don’t forget anything, better than any elephant you may have met). When at our worst, we fought like cats and dogs, enjoying every minute of our sibling-based battles; at our best, just have someone say anything untoward about any one of us, and a line was drawn in the sand, the wagons were put in a circle, and all artillery was pointing outward at the enemies. In short, may God have Mercy on those children who had decided to pick on any one of the Potter brood. As siblings, we were as thick as thieves, and sometimes did some good-natured thieving - seeing if we could steal a chocolate bar from the candy counter at the town’s most popular restaurant- coffee shop when the owner was busy at the cash register, just to prove a point. Even though that woman kept an eagle eye on us, the hand is quicker than the eye! Mother made the grass grow
Not the rain Her hands nourished Gathered Soft reaper She knew What must be kept & what must be scythed In order To survive |
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