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Mathalea Jan 19
I don’t wear a cape on my back, I wear all the tales of heartbreak like scars so that whoever I turn my back to knows I’m no stranger to disappointment.

I don’t fight evil with fancy gadgets or fight like violence was the first boy who ever intertwined their lips with mine, no I say all the right things, my words a honeycomb, my lies oh so real. I’ll bring out the good in the evil and right when it believes that my love is genuine I’ll show my back and walk away. That alone will knock anything down leaving it clasping it’s chest for air.

I don’t wear a mask because I don’t need a secret identity. I am already so confused with who I truly am behind all these metaphors, I don’t need another identity when I can barely figure out the one tied to my name.
Mathalea Dec 2018
So what do we say to those we have broken?
How do we put it all back together when our hands tremble and we can’t open our mouths to hold their names.
We could say sorry
Sorry that I led you into the ocean, I let it mesmerize you but left you behind and let the waves engulf you, sorry that I let you drown, I should have warned you that everything is two sided that peace comes hand in hand with chaos and love comes hand in hand with pain, I should have told you.

I could blame you
It’s your fault you didn’t try to save yourself, it’s your fault you stayed still when you saw me running from the high tides, you should have went out the same way you came in when it all came falling down and not wait for me to tell you to leave.
Where were your defenses? You shouldn’t have stayed still, you should have ran for your life perhaps you would be on the sand with your toes dipped all happy not gasping for air fighting to stay afloat.

Or we could both be quiet.
What’s there to say?
We can spin a coin and choose whether it’s endless apologies or maybe fingers can be pointed or we could just stay silent.
We could stay silent and wait for time to gracefully arrive and hold us both in her cottage,where she will kiss our scars and tell us all the things our mothers should have told us about love. Let’s stay silent.
Mathalea Dec 2018
Boys will be boys
What are you doing?

Boys will be boys
I said no

Boys will be boys
Get your hands off me

Boys will be boys
Don’t mute my screams

Boys will be boys
You said you loved me

Boys will be boys
My body is not your playground

Boys will be boys
Don’t tell me it’s my fault

Boys will be boys
My dress was not consent

Boys will be boys?
she was found dead and ***** in an alley because why is she walking in the dark alone? Doesn’t she know when the sun fades so does the fact that she’s human. When the sun sets so does the fact that she’s somebody’s mother, a sister, a friend, somebody’s child, wife, A HUMAN BEING
Mathalea Dec 2018
Body language

Hold my hands and they will wrap you in an embrace so warm it’ll remind of what it was like when your father still told you he loved you. Hold my hands and between every finger, look for the stories of courageous women from every generation that lead to my birth.

Kiss my lips and they will tell you how many times I’ve made them say “I love you too” when it wasn’t true. When they wanted to yell “what do you mean you love me when I can taste all your little adventures, when I can taste her and her and her”.

Trace my skin till the edges of infinity and perhaps in my curves, you will find his fingerprints and they will tell you of the love story of my hips and his voice,of how they swayed to the symphonies he played when he spoke. May you be in awe when you reach the valleys in my thighs, for this is where I will baptize you, then drown you and when you emerge you will bring with you nations.

Listen to my voice and try to figure out if it cracks because someone told you that all the women in my family had a cracking voice, as if something kept breaking inside but pay no attention they told you it was just our voices. Perhaps it cracks because every night I screamed into the night for him to return to me or maybe it’s both. Maybe all the women in my family have cracking voices because we pour our love into lovers who never stay long enough for the sun to rise,and so we yell into our pillows and scream into the night for their return.

Look into my eyes and I will tell tales with my tears,of how this body is much more than skin and bones. It is a journal filled to the brim with poetry.This body is a seed and like all seeds it will be buried in the soil, this body is sacred land it belongs to no man,regardless of how many once called it home it still belongs to no man.

— The End —