Prisoner Of Love
Please ditch those chains!
Prisoner of love
where is your truth?
Carried with your perpetual screams by the dark winds of that night?
That same night you surrendered your all to a beast that knows your name.
Now, pain is your truth.
You’ve sealed your eyes tightly shut in defiance of reason and have attached blind to love’s appellations.
You’ve joined the crooners who defame love when it is your lover who is unrecyclable trash.
And so, you see his punches as caresses that melt your stress away after a long day.
After the world has had its fair share of snatching pieces of you for the day, you surrender yourself to the warm embrace of his invectives only fit for fiends.
You dine with foolishness on the banquet bed of lust and term your French Romance, the real deal. Ha!
You mumble through swollen lips to your children that love is the reason you were born in one colour but in between colours, you fluctuate…
Like sad summer rain, indecisive of its fall.
That the painter hued you in chocolate brown but their gazes mirror the bereaved eyes of onlookers at a stranger’s funeral as your soulmate paints you in the colours of his devotion; blue and black.
How magnificent! Their father’s love has painted you in the colours of true love; black and blue, wallowing and wandering in your blues and this eternal darkness like a lost pilgrim.
Prisoner of love
… you sit with your back hunched, your wrinkled eyes a badge of honour, of a battle well fought, and your spirit crushed at age thirty. A woman in her prime, after years of being loved thoroughly through and through, through thorough unrepenting whips.
You lovingly caress the trophies of your love; some stand proud on your back, some on your belly. The most beautiful of all sits like a well-adorned thorn between your thighs.
And every night you stare at your kitchen knife in the dark, having conversations with the demons of the night, whispering to the dancing shadows,
“He will change. Change will come tomorrow.”
And one day, breaking news reaches your ears from behind the prison bars;
“In the early hours of this morning, amongst the rising uproar on social media on the menace of wife battering and domestic violence, a respectable public figure, regarded by many as the beacon of hope for today’s youth was arrested after neighbours reported loud noises coming from the couple’s apartment.”
Your daughter’s man, the one who swore eternal love to her on the altar broke her legs into submission. She’s your spitting image but she didn’t use the knife like you did, she sacrificed her legs instead.
Prisoner of love
… as the sobs rack your body you realize you should have broken those chains. Now, it dawns on you, that no one would want a broken piece of pottery or any piece of broken pottery. They cut. They draw blood.
Author’s note: While I admit this is a satiric piece, it is more so meant to be a jarring wake-up call. It is no way intended as victim blaming or shaming. I’ve seen enough of trauma transcending generations. It has to stop! You owe it to your daughters and their daughters and their daughters’ daughters.
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