rub the hurt out of my skin,
wash the oil out of my hair,
scrub the nerves into a calm state,
heaving while screeching every morning,
knee’s bent, seething,
an illness that is just not visible to the eye,
A lie they think,
as I scream from the internal scarring,
womb a chamber of memory, a cave of secrets, repression, and golden nectar,
I tell myself the oppressive nature of women will end here,
they all look at me like a cursed child,
telling me I will never know about the love they had,
Put words into my mouth, label me as if they know me,
right riddles of their story, and hide in the portraits they have painted for themselves,
How do I tell them, that I cannot live a lie,
That I cannot deny my right to just Be, I folded myself into origami shapes for them,
my whole life straightening edges that were bent, cut and glued in all the wrong placss,
placing myself into moulds I could never fit,
broken bones noone wanted to look at,
those who listened, did so with love,
but could do no more except just listen,
we are blood warriors, holding onto traditions that continually curse us,
holding onto people that constantly burn us, beat us then tell us its love,
we followed all the right rules, did everything by the book
I was a good child, I did it just for them, broke myself for them,
They look at me now like I sin with every step,
But I find myself finally free,
Only tryint to cut the chains and rid myself of this mental trauma,
you can heal a physical wound and have a simple scar as a mark,
Mark and curse the body and you will create a paralyzed phoenix,
Burnt up from the inside, never able to die, neither forget,
I will never birth another to continue this blood line.