There is an unboxing of woman
One that thought that the work was done,
Thought the attempts at putting mud into the evergrowing holes was enough,
Was enough to stop the screaming skin ,
The writhing beast in my heart, had not served its time,
She remained, whilst I purged from my eyes
I prayed over her, had holy water be poured down my throat monthly,
I sung to her, read over her, and held her,
Deciphered her psychology , cried for the child that used to beg for love,
She, annointed her face in smiles and eyes,
Blessed the ranging hope that kept her alive,
Thought that escaping one jail only to find herself in yet another boxed system was the only way out,
That was until the lights went out,
The curtains became drawn,
And all spirit fled
My body rung out of the wild
Creativity dried up like those of the leaves in autumn
Yet there was no fertility in ground
I died on the earth I was not made for,
This is not my home
Even in the wild,
My sadness tends to overwhelm me,
Or I get lost in the sea,
This tsunami of emotions,
No lifejacket can prevent the hits I take on,
I don’t want to manifest my wishes for death again.
But sometimes ,
Its default reaction is for the end to come.