Death Now Becomes Me

Warning: Sensitive content.

Following is a poetry written about abuse, violence and how a woman’s choice to not bear a child is deemed irrelevant. To carry on a pregnancy is an obligation dictated by a society of corrupt morals, stripping her off the basic human right that is bodily integrity. Often destroying it religiously right from the moment of her birth. How she is often conditioned into submission and her agency is crushed in the name of propriety, love and, respect for authority and, countless ridiculous ideas of conformity. 

Flower you termed it,
what was a seed of sickness
you'd long resolved to plant
In my naive mind,
Even before I could learn to walk,
You had already hung your shame
In between my pudgy child legs
seeped in your sadistic honor,
you thrusted it forcefully in
with time and your intentional ill.

To protect your crippled sense of integrity,
You pushed it deeper into me
till you could arrange
some moment holy
when I was allowed
to let my clothes fall.
All a matter of respectful obedience,
so spoke, vociferously,
your depraved reasoning.

Got swallowed by my womb,
your sickness now well on it's way
to become what you would deem
a righteous deed but oh,
did you really think I'd stop
fighting your pathetic ideologies?

Look at my fingers now stained,
having clawed into it,
the mould that sought to poison
my worth is now draining out of me
Smell my crimson glory, can you?
As i deal with it to its very end,
ripping its every inch,
Standing back on my quivering feet,
very soon it will be your turn, Elder,
to wither away
But not before I have had my fun.

Not before I see you quail,
desperate for a helping hand,
You'll only find mine sticking
to your wretched neck
that never spoke a sound
dipped in love to build me up,
but only found me to be
a thing, paraded in your name
and then have me buried
In a cemetery of anonymous graves.

Death now becomes me, Elder.
Nails bloody digging into your
parent flesh that never
once sought to be a shepherd
nor a loving nurturing light
to it's blind little lamb
brought to be sacrificed
for your own sinful desires,
to be punished
if dare it commit
your admonishing wrongs,
to be patted,
to follow your rights absurd.

So now comes the time
to avenge the cruelty
you wrecked on that little child
who is long dead,
till you scream and till you beg,
but find yourself losing
to the dark of your own creation.

- Entangled Designs

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