Fighting for myself. A daily battle. The war not yet over. I scream a blood curdling scream from the depths of my damp lungs. Am I not a woman? Silence eludes me. It drowns me. I feel myself slowly going under. Only my voice is forced to accompany Misery who is engaging in sexual encounters with my numb nude body The orgasmic yelps are not that of pleasure but pain. Freeing myself from the waves of assault and humiliation I stammer across the quiet streets. Protesting alone the jumbled streets with strobing lights. The pin that lingers between my thighs conceals hidden truths. The word that I cannot speak. I sigh a deep sigh of hurt and regret. My heart still aching as it tries to murmur ain’t I a woman?
A single tear was shed. Casting a legacy along my ebony smooth cheek. Releasing the taste of salt onto my rough tongue. One. Two. Three. Each opening spilling blood onto the dusty gravel ground. Four. Five. Six. No more. Looking to the heavens to save me and give me comfort and refuge. Slowly dehumanised. Seven. Eight. Closing my eyes pretending that the crowd around me will intervene. My poor child. Do not witness me this way. Nine. The cotton now turning into blurs of ruby red rising in the plantation. Ten. NO MORE. the words fail me. I want to go home. I long to be free.
I sit in the dull yet clinical office, trying to avoid eye contact. He smug, fat, bald white head going at me from his cubicle. The exaggerated smirk on his aged face taunts me. Barking his orders and watching me. I scatter round like a startled insect trying to find a safe haven; running away from the light. Print this. Fax that. Yessir Masa my thoughts suggest for me to say. Working my slender fingers to the bone. The same fingers that he wish would caress the sweaty folds of his pasty flesh. His fantasies of bandage. My visions of shackles being clasped onto my feminine ankles. The cheek of him.
Birth is when I came forth. Childhood is when I was programmed. Womanhood is when I learnt the concept of no. Death is when I understood the first three stages of my life brought me to my grave.
© 2016 Nadine Robinson All Rights Reserved
