Died On A Tuesday
On the last day i lived,
My stubborn afro flew wild in the wind, kissing my face desperately,
Not caring for my small, brown eyes.
In the last moment i breathed,
My lungs failed me,
Sucking away all the air inside me,
Leaving my face in a state of horror
As he tore into my cotton dress,
Into every shred of life in me,
Into layers and layers of unfelt pain,
While my brain screamed for help
In silence only the graveyard hears.
And when i spoke,
My words were thrown at my battered face,
They said he was weak,
And i could’ve been stronger,
That i made him weak
With my tightly curled hair,
And hand me down dress.
That my face turned a beast into a monster,
And should’ve visited my dying friend in the morning,
That my NO wasn’t loud enough,
Maybe i enjoyed being ripped apart,
Maybe i wanted to destroy an innocent man.
But I’m too cold to feel,
Too dead to live,
The dead cannot feel,
For I died that Tuesday.