Image Credit: Maria Maria Acha-Kutscher I sometimes ask myself If today was my last day What would people know me as? The bright young poet? The girl who could never stop talking? The revolutionist? The girl with small eyes and a big heart? Or will they talk about the hidden scars That my husband was an abuser That sometimes my insecurities suffocate me every night That sometimes death feels like a more plausible option Will they remember me for my mind? That I was a ground-breaking anthropologist A beauty that could never be ignored A flirtatious character with an unforgettable laughter Or will they remember the rape That this body I called home Was broken in 6 times a day By a man that was supposed to be my defender That I had a miscarriage last month Will they tell you about my accomplishments? These are things that now seem trivial to me as I lay in this hospital bed With a swollen face and a broken spirit I often wonder what would become of me If I didn’t survive this last attack Yes the LAST My new chance at life Has made me realize there is a way out And it’s just started in my mind Steph I
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
About UsYoung expressionists trying to discover life. Follow us on our journey. Archives
October 2016
Categories |