People love to wolf long and loud about what they would or wouldn’t do in a situation. They talk about killing or maiming anyone who threatens them. Or sometimes they say they’d kill themselves before they’d let a particular thing happen to them.
Ahh, but life isn’t always that cut-and-dried. Mostly it’s survival and doing whatever to stay alive.
It’s this #pastpresentfuture that haunts me.
see her, hips rounded like a pear
rounded like mine, blackbrown as earth
the swaying bounce of her step muted
enough, she prays, to pass unnoticed
she will fight to keep her body hers
a fight she knows she cannot win
afterwards, she re-collects pieces of self
among the torn striplings of cloth
left on her body and the floor beneath
welts bloodied black rise with vengeance
she, artist of earth, finds in this alien world
old ways to heal, new ways to hurt
now that she is an unwilling favorite
there is yet another soul, eyes shining
the deepest onyx in a face (un)like hers
holding her spirit to this wretched place
heart-torn, she cannot steep the tea
whispered of among women, cannot drink it
[More stanzas to come tomorrow.]