The woman sat on the toilet seat, her head thrust

Against the flushing button, I heard her sob nevertheless.

She tried so hard to be neither heard, nor seen, every single

Day. Vanishing into the furniture, her own false grins.

Framed by shut windows and guilt underneath the blanket.

 

The outlines of her face moulded by the sink, the dirt within,

The hands grabbing her, touching her soft flesh, her working

Body, pulled and dragged across his body, her gestures gravitating

Away from his bitter taste, his dry mouth, the desperate temper.

She tried to read her way out of her misery, she had always been

Such a very good girl and she paid for it what she never had.

 

Generational misery, from one mindset to the next, infected

And infiltrated, the old rotten dogmas, the assumed worthlessness,

The repetitive patterns of unwholesomeness, untruths, always

And always replayed and forcefully enacted, slammed out of the

Children, their genuine nature, their voice and vocation, performed

Through the ages, never questioned, even if they burn our very flesh.

monochrome photography of woman
Photo by Rafael Serafim on Pexels.com

 

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