Today I am tired.
Plagued dreams make for a restless sleep
I woke with my bones already weary,
My emotions wholly drained.
I woke from a memory.
Passenger side, in the cab of a red truck.
outside There is a promising threat of rain
Slow, down, and, Park,
by an open field. Not by my home.
I am supposed to be going home, where is my home?
Click, doors lock. And,
Panic. My shaking hands are
Pulling the handle and it wont give way. Im pulling the handle and it wont give way.
Okay. Frantically searching outside the window. Where is my home?
Panic, because
I haven’t looked at my driver yet,
And I can already see his ten ravenous eyes
Reaching for my starved body.
Dont look, dont look and he cant hurt you, and
the viper strikes
Slithering, up
Thighs, and curling
Around body
Fangs, sinking
Into this heart, replacing
Blood with paralyzing venom
My kicking legs cease
Teeth and tongue crumble to sand that
pours down my ruby throat
ruby red raw lungs choke, and cry for air
Cry for air cry for air cry for cry for cry!
1,2,3, 1, 2 and 3, 1, and, 2, and, 3,
If i am not counting then i am thinking and when i am thinking i am remembering and
my ground shakes and my hands quake and my bones ache and my heart dies,
Because she cannot believe this has happened to me!
That pedophilic sadists can be the fathers of daughters
That this! Is! A woman's! Reality!
What once was caution is now fear! fear for
the girl who walks alone in night! is that shout i heard a cry for help? everything
becomes a trap! a date, a party, a walk,
trust diminishes as those around you prove your heart wrong
but fear riles and turns
wild, turns red, turns angry
To my assailants, I say this:
Touch me, or another woman again,
and I will lick the blood off my angry fists and spit in your face
And watch you choke on the ashes of my sisters
And by my grace, allow you to witness the fullest extent of my glorious power.
How dare you assume any authority over feminine divinity
I am my own god,
We are our own gods, and do not bow before
Squirming, weak-willed, fucking perverts.
weakness is an assumption attached to each woman as she is born
even before her first wail is exhaled,
and it is never our truth;
what is known lies within our hearts,
collectively beating, serving a reminder
of support and resilience.
About the Creator
Alexa Green
i like to write. 18, from Idaho.
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