From the cradle to the scaffold: Rehumanising myself

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You raised me to be a victim of yours.

I can’t believe that I let you grab my chin

And scream at my face, my ears bursting with your

Spit and voice.

Let you look at me as if I was supposed

To be a saint, pure and untouched, not a product of yours,

Tainted and abused, looking for appreciation everywhere in

The wrong hands and laps.

 

I imitated the women you

Drooled after and exploited. I thought they were so happy.

To have your attention. I never knew that you’d throw them

Away like trash, like your own filth, cleansing yourself of them,

Everything they gave you to make you feel like a man.

 

I heard the way you talked about the female body,

Nameless, heartless, from one to the other.

Recreating their narratives, you’d never be the whore.

That’s the backwards universe you brought me into.

Never explained anything to me.

Just called me names that belonged to you.

 

Leaving all these traps everywhere and you’d gloat

Once I’d fall in. I tried to understand you.

You wanted to be pitied, there had never been an end in sight.

You’d inflict harm and then you’d beg for mercy.

You’d never learn your own lessons.

You are an open book full of lies.

 

I can’t erase the sounds of fury that you left behind in my mind

And memory, how you stomped your way into my

Muscle memory of fear. I want to shake you off and

Out of my body, the particles of my needs.

 

I still feel the rhythm of your violence making

An entire house tremble.

Your wrath against yourself, the world and us, took me so far

That I was ready to jump out of your racing raging car

Convinced that I’d be safer on the side of the road

Than next to you in the driver’s seat.

grayscale photo of woman with her eyes closed touching her hair
Photo by Grisha Stern on Pexels.com

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