Matyr
Grips stronger than my will.
I hear the whispers in my ear.
Whispers caused by the lashing of my hair
Behind the glistening of my tired orbs
I am sure they could feel the fear, the pain- the broken dreams.
Yet they reached and yanked away the few strands.
If they had a heart, I was hoping they would show me some.
Get Tsetseboampem’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
The destruction of my dignity is a tale that will be told for generations to come.
The prostitution of my prowess — the standards of society I have got to live by
The discord seeps through my pores like the heat radiating from their bruising hands.
Every minute — every brush of skin-on-skin — the very pieces of my soul are snatched.
The very few I held onto to stand by my side had taken seats to gaze upon my disembodiment.
But behind the thumps of my hailing heart, my spirit soars right above the stars.
Because of my bravery and endurance, every second I stood up and fought back
Will be a martyr in itself.
