Poetry/ Spoken Word

Forgive them

Seventy times seven
My mother told me
Forgive them for they
Do not know what they do

Seventy times seven
I watched his lies erode
From his lips
He’s eyes haunted me
Because of the way he watched me
He wanted to be sure of
A part of life he could control
That was Me

Seventy times seven
I opened my legs and invited him
As I took sedatives
I had to be a mother
That what marriage should feel like
As the heat from his body kissed my skin
And I pretended to love him

Seventy times seven
I watched his girlfriends
Trickle in and out of the house

Seventy times seven
I opened the doors of the hospital
Emergency room echoed
As people questioned for the presence of the father
As my belly grew
His heart shrunk
He became weary of me
I started to eat more
Hoping to digest my emotions

Seventy times seven
He called me ugly
Spat on me
He only showed mercy
When I reminded him of the life below my chest
But it would only be his
If It were a boy
Because “men create only boys”

Seventy times seven
I gave birth to a girl
And hell caved in the walls of my home
His eyes turned red
His words were like daggers
As they pierce my heart

Seventy times seven
I forgave him
I kept quiet
I shrank myself
I was living in an illusion of happiness
I broke down
I lost hope

Mamma never taught me of
Seventy times seven
I forgive you
But I am agonised by my very existence
Image result for marriage and abuse

Seventy times seven
I won’t be able to sleep tonight
I am a vessel filled with sorrow
I am broken, lost and empty
As I open my palms and receive depressants
My marriage finally came to a halt
As he filed for an end so he can get involved with another

To my healthy baby girl
Seventy times seven
Forgive them
But be attentive of their true nature
People will reveal themselves
Time will tell


My Queen, My All

Where is my queen?
I do remember her smile
Her grace drawn from cheek to cheek
Her glory drapes in her strides
Her hair creates a reflection
Of not only her beauty but her essence
The sacrifices she makes
Her unconditional love
From the gift of motherhood to the impact…
To the impact of her presence

But where is she now?
Wearing the crown of shame
For things that seemed beyond control
Wearing the crown of uncertainty
That governed the fear of originality –
Wasted time

Honoring this obsession to shrink
To make others comfortable
To fit in
Redesigned by this social contract
Checklists to satisfy
A woman molded to fit an identity
To shape herself outside of something she was not

Haunted for being unique
Distressed by her vehicle:
For her body is shaped differently
And her curves are bold
Her lips are invented for passion
Her hair carries her honor
But she was not content
Feeling guilty of who she was
Slow death
Being a captive of thoughts
Her desire to be liked by others

She abandoned her true self
She became miserable in the box she had created
She became weary of the chains of restrictions
She wept with her heart on the floor
The pain cutting her breath shorter
As she lay down to rest
She became uneasy
Because her bed of comfort
Would soon become her deathbed
She yearned to break free

She realized that the person in the mirror
Was not her true identity
She got her breakthrough
She found herself

She shouts back to the society
Rejecting lowering her standards
To the plastic self
“I don’t wanna look like you”


Depressed – Deep _Rest

If I could step into your shoes,
How drastic will my world change?
Will I see a mirage of darkness?
A place covered with smoke?
Will my skin crawl with pain?

Will my heart pound like thunder?
Will my head sink down?
Will my eyes turn to glass?
And shatter from every sight of joy?

Will my words become fewer?
Will my voice turn to whisper?
Will my ear turn deaf?
Will my world turn to a cave?

Will the sun turn dark?
And my days be like winter?
Will I notice all this?
Or will this become my new normal?

Will my friends grow away?
Will my family become weary?
Will prayer become a song,
That can’t reach past the ceilings?

Will I get tireless of seating?
Bent back so that I can speak
To a professional that seems to listen
But never understands?

Will the doctor create another?
Another note to remind me
That the pills are not working,
That I should try another?

Will this phase of life ever leave?
Or will I be doomed?
To maybe take my own life,
When I don’t see the purpose in my breath.

And for those that care,
Will try to speak life into me,
To remind me of gratitude,
To remind me of how there are people
In worse conditions than me,
Perhaps fighting terminal illness.
Having life and not wanting it,
Oh, the irony of life.

I might not see your deepest desire,
I might not see what joy looks like to you,
I might not see the fight for life daily.

But this is my prayer,
That you learn about grace,
And you will see life as that
Things are always bound to change,
But grace is assured.