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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. |