VIOLENCE ON WOMEN | WITHIN MY BONES SINGS: A POEM

This poem is the child of my early morning meandering within my mind. It speaks of womanhood and the pain she carries within her breast as a result of society's blindness to the pains of others.

I dedicate this to all the women who are going or have gone through violence, whether domestic or at the place of work, whether by deeds or by words. You are not alone though it may seem so.

For those of us who see these things and turn away without acting, may God help us in our own time of need.

_{Photo by Tess Nebula on Unsplash.}

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WITHIN MY BONES SINGS

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If you had looked closely,
You would have seen
The blue black bruise
Hidden within my makeup use,
You would have heard the fading echo
Of my screams and pleas
As each blow felled me like a tree
Struck by lightning,
Harangued by several thunders
But you did not look.

You would have noticed
My shaking hand holding
My shaking hand,
My trembling lips muttering
Several empty lies,
My smiling eyes wet and shiny
With fresh tears and old pain
But your eyes were lost
Within the mutters of your skull
And your hands carried your own pain.

I had prayed you'd notice me
One day and seek to pull me
Out of this dank, dark place
Where I have left my spirit
To hide, to deny, to rewrite
Each and every bruise
Into a sweet caress,
To remake every spittle dripping curse
Into some sort of endearment,
To sculpt the history of this pain
Into some war that my skin,
My body had lost.

But you did not see me
Lost among your crowded thoughts,
Did you?
You did not notice me
Standing, waiting for salvation
To come, did you?
You had not heard the song of my tears,
The massa's call; a chorus,
A refrain of whips, teargas,
Truncheon nudges, booted heels
On my cranium, saliva on my face,
Had you?

You have forgotten how to see,
Victim of patriarchy,
The strangled spirits that shimmer
Beneath the moonlight,
On glittering asphalt streets,
That shine like shattered glass
On ceramic floors still smelling
Of disinfectant and soap,
Industrial cleaning agents and
The fast fading scent of cologne,
Waiting for hope to come,
To find me, to find you, to find us,
To set us free.

Now, you will go your way
To your empty bank statements,
Your lonely bottle of wine,
Your cold bed of need,
Your own old and new bruises
And well hidden lies.
I will watch you go
And I will pray that I was you
And you were me, yet,
I must go home
To my caress, to my sweet nothings,
To my massa's loving touch,
To my remade paradise.

And we must all pretend
That it is dawn, the sun is here,
The birds are singing,
The flowers are fornicating with the bees,
And love, not fear within my bones, sings.

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©warpedpoetic, 2018.

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