wordings of the soul

Apart In One By Tydale Abigail

POSTED 10/11/2018 15:33
2697 Reads Apart In One By Tydale Abigail, Poetry on Tushstories
Crime is sweet,
But to be a criminal is no sweet decision.
To be looked upon with disdain,
Arraigned in the courts of unacceptability,
Accused by the lips of society,
And executed on the blood fields of inferiority.

The womb that gave birth to me
Is the same womb that delivered my brother.
The loins that send me to the earth
Also led my brothers to this world.
Yet the eyes that watch my steps
Are a million more than those of all put together.

So, they ask me to close my legs while sitting down
As if the gold mines of future generations are not hidden between my brothers thighs too.
My thoughts they say are infected
By the virus of weakness,
And the speeches I make,
Are apples poisoned by the venom of feminity.

The curves that design the corners of my body,
They say are tempting.
And if I make a step further,
I am full of seduction.
But the spears in their thoughts about me
Keep me spinning in tears all night.

With what worth do I walk with my name?
After all,
They tell me I can only answer their names for a while.
But my brothers bind those names on the cleaves of their waists forever.
You will get married and change your name,
They often say.

Like the weevil that lives in the bean,
I must marry all kinds of cooking pots in the home.
And a time out to play at the yard,
I am bagged unuseful and incapable of managing the home.
Yet the rice grains I boil move faster through my brothers throats
While I manage to drink tears mixed with the stew of confinement.

I am no stranger to head offices and firms.
They assess my files and call them "she."
They bully my innocence
Requesting for a soccer turn in my innermost room.
They pierce me deep into the calamity of fate.

Then through the streets of sorrows,
Along the boulevards of misery,
And by the circus of rejection,
I channel my tears into the gutters of destiny.
I weep and wail like the angry dogs,
Hungry for the dignity of every girl child.

Do not tread on the tracks of my treasure no more.
Better not scorn the sense of my thinking too.
Allow my style to dance in the ballroom of the world,
And dare not restrict the marks of my ink.
For in as much as I am a female,
I still have the male gene clearly spelled out in me.

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