Dearest,
Don’t you wish you could be
With A woman
Who wouldn’t worry,
Who wouldn’t weep out both her lungs,
Her beating heart, her writhing soul,
The very life inside her bones,
Every time she hears or thinks of,
Childbirth, illness,
The heaven where she won’t belong.
A woman,
Who wouldn’t lose her mind
And let it wander and get lost
With those resembling herself,
Facless and nameless; Across the sea.
Being an asset; disposable;
Being a woman in her homeland.
Don’t you wish you could be
With a woman
who isn’t
Terrified of every touch
She yearns for?
A woman,
Who has never
Been touched against her will?
Don’t you wish your life was easy?
I do, too.
Dearest,
I am a woman,
Who weeps out fractions of her spirit,
Every time she hears or thinks of,
Childbirth, illness, heaven,
Of Being
Faceless and nameless; Across the sea.
Of Being a woman from her homeland.
I am a woman
Who is
Terrified of every touch
She yearns for.
A woman
Who has only ever
Been touched against her will.
Dearest,
I am a woman
Who worries, and weeps.
-🔆-🔆-🔆-🔆-🔆-🔆-🔆-
Art by Arthur Rackham.
SingulariT 