“She wishes to have gone another way” 7-27-19 /// 5:18am ||| KH

ts'ed

“She wishes to have gone another way”
7-27-19 /// 5:18am ||| KH

I am no longer entangled in the makings of 

my mangled carcass. In fact, I have gone so 

far out of my way to prove to myself how much 

difference the spaces between my fragile past

 self and my still yet frail current self still stand. 

The obtuse angle in which it awkwardly

 straightens the back; how the eye remains 

loose and staring into an oblivious spot on the wall.

The woman in the mirror isn’t who I am anymore

 and this does not surprise me. I have changed

 hands several times. With myself. With others. 

My heart has changed course a dozen times and

 yet I still consider this very spot to be my home 

and yet it is not. 

My words and their talking phrases never seem to

 align with each other justly. They seem to be in a 

trance, their noses stuck in the air and their feet 

poised to dance. My mouth seem ready to speak 

words of wisdom but the wind never lets me. 

The needle and thread spin so sharply about my

 insides, the seal is shut and is never to be

 opened again... not even by me. It is as if I 

have no say in what I speak. As if the wind 

has gotten poisonous to my flame. How

 intentions have changed..... How I’ve 

grown to be a character..... How my

 shoes have filled with the muck of a 

thousand woman just like me..... 

Before me, there was nothing but dry 

throats and voices too sore to speak 

the words of the free. Too afraid it 

would be beaten with the whip of the

 majority: the people of my kind aren’t

 treated well. The people that speak

 wisdom and freedom and peace and

 individuality; do not they too have a 

voice? A reasonable sounding aura to

 accompany them when they are lost?

Where are my people? The ones that 

have proven themselves to be worthy 

of such title ? Where have they gone?

 What have your people done to them ?

Know that I am scared. Not of you or your 

selfishness. But I am scared for the future.

 For if we are to reproduce here, in depression 

and oppression, then what will be the hope 

for our little ones ?

To survive it must mean to sacrifice. To bleed 

the ashes of the ones that have been burned at 

the sake for our very existence. We are truly 

the lucky ones. And this I hold tightly in my

 hands to my chest; a full and total belief of

 ones mind, hopes and dreams... and plenty frivolous things.