A half-made thing she was
Semi-whole, half empty
A girl with a predisposed lurgy
Ailing to be dismantled by something other than a hand meaning harm.
Marauding her own essence of body
By an arderous emotion ruled unfitting to her likes;
Creature of sin inborn from a morsel of the devil
Suffering the error of a wandering womb,
A sickened uterus that has a warped penchant for being dysfunctional
Antagonising the deity strance she has been sedated in;
Complying obediently to the wrench of subjugation like an amenable house-pet.
So she curls up in the bathtub;
A black party-dress and a blow drier plugged to the electric outlet
A coy sneer trapped within the chasm of her muzzle
Moisture brumes the air
Occupies the margins lodged in the cartilage of her neckline
Softens her heart the one that has been hanging_
Hanging undiagnosed when she confessed dreaming of death at the function
But mother says everyone does at least once in their life
You should pray
This is only a faze
God doesn't like an ungrate
_Pray.
It's been a decade.
Praying for a salvation-hearing that was aimed just for one decree
A cold bed turgid with a blue headboard
_and nothing else
To brace those knees made into fumes for sending her in exile;
To atone, to beg for mercy at the head of the open gates of hell
When she was just neurotically in pain
Suffering rigor mortis delicately,
Subtly...so to be pretty.
Even though tin is veneering her insides
She takes the time;
( Each sunrise before routine rites come measuring her feminal-condition )
To fold the maps of her madness meticulously under corroded roads of sanity,
Oxidised cities of hostility under the name of piety,
And rivers_
Rivers of insolent rage that run sanguine red that she shelters in her dark eyes,
Keep quiet with the tongue she downs everytime she opens her mouth
_And nothing else
To receive this loss she keeps braving without exactly grasping the coherence of
A girl_severed, letching to inflict back
On all fours
( Bearing no sweet treat or warm served meal )
In whatever way, in no particular form
She wants to take something back
The truth about how lethal the female myth is;
The spells, the serpentine locks, the unbred pain she carries from the torrid summers of her mothers
How cruel girlhood becomes if it grows pressured to be a mellow agreeing delight
_And she did
Grew shrewd unafraid to be feral
Swayed bare-foot like a shined saber Ready to be lodged in the apses of guts
Like a half made thing does ( hurts)
With some sort of zing
So called spectacle of female hysteria
30/3/2023