The location of the biological clock is complex. Situated somewhere between my body and everyone else's business. Turning my **** into a property everyone feels free to voice their opinion on.
As an elder woman turns to me and says: "Now you're the only one left! Surely you'll be next." Pressure disguised in encouragement. One I am hesitant to slander, so I walk away, politely, as if it were just a simple fender ******.
Remarks and expectations thrown at me. Everyone's opinion picking scabs to wounds inside me nobody even knows exist. Irrecoverable lacerations I will carry with me until the end of my days.
Tik Tok goes the clock; perhaps it was a knock? The message always the same: "Hurry up or you'll fall behind." I slowly reach for the instrument measuring my time, I tempt my fate a little while longer by reluctantly snoozing my biological clock.
I am my lover's *****. I am not the object of his affection but rather a tangible stable entity he sometimes chases after. Much like a dog craving his favorite chew toy. Playfully rolling in a puddle of mud which coincidentally is exactly what he thinks of me. A property, only his to be owned Even when he throws me away, I should never dare to dethrone him from the place he still thinks he owns. To him I am unclean, forgetting that his own hands have soiled my soul more than the ones before him. He wraps his unkind words around my neck, ruthless knots I can't forget. He speaks of growing old while he eagerly counts down the years to my death. Not knowing that with every breath I now die a little less. Because when he leaves, the noose around my neck loosens a volcanic anger flows from within me full of realisation that he can no longer have me, because I now come at an expense he can no longer afford.
to an abusive relationship full of double standards
I am the artist of the painting I call my life. And every now and then, the man I love makes surprise appearances in which, he sheds vivid colors of pain, love, **** and hate on my bland misused body. He does this passionately with his own blood, sweat and tears Creating between my love and his, colors that don’t exist It is a thing of beauty, truly. But at the end he always leaves and then it becomes my vigorous displeasure to blend the colors he leaves behind. Turning back to simpler colors of life
Inspired by Frida Kahlo's love for Diego and to my own Diego you are still a revolution in my heart.
I am human before I am woman I was not brought into existence with the sole purpose to give life I will not fall prey to the social cube that men have made for women I refuse to be merely an incubator to a rotten society
I am human before I am woman I am the ocean on windy days because some days I can't be tamed I am the sky on continuous hot summer days because everyday fire burns inside me I am the full moon because every now and then I am solitude And that is human
I have wrapped my desires into dreams and visions They will push like sunlight through any and every societal duty that has been placed upon me even before I was born.
My body will wither like the dahlia that it is and when the moment comes I will not fear the end just as I have not feared men I would have known that I lived as a human and will find peace and comfort in my existence on this earth I will look forward to what is in store
This is my choice. This is my refusal. This is my proposal to all women and men. Let us live as beings.