TYPE III


(written from the imagined perspective of a woman)

Colonial history will still dictate how the men around here
Practice love through hate
For aesthetic purposes; an ethnic marker
Gender controlled by husband...son...father
Against my will.

I can let nature take its course, the uneasiness in how I pass
Bears nothing to your immoral force with which you open me up
Your gateway to a selfish pleasure
And I once believed that being loved
Was close to being treasured
I am as trapped as a bird in a cage
Modified and made ugly by your commission
Disfigured by tradition and religion and holy wars
And chained by the fear that renders me yours
Against my will

My sisterhood grows, from northeast Africa
To the sub-Sahara
Young and joyless and bound by doctrines
No pursuit of happiness. No pleasure to come
No great expectations. Nothing foretold
Nothing that has been or gone
Objects more of control than desire
My eyes that once shone with innocent love
Now burn with hate fuelled fire…and all because...
You denied me a fall from grace, you denied me self discovery
No different to putting scars on my face
Or is that too much a public recovery?
You denied me womanhood. You denied me choice
I censor my thoughts and silence my voice
And I think of our mothers and their mothers
And of the honour and pride they felt
When this exact same fate to them was dealt
And why did they not feel humiliated? Abused?
Mutilated? Used?
Maybe when we live in a world without light
We relinquish our strengths and fall prey to our plights
Enlightenment and knowledge, I was lead to believe,
Are the roads to freedom
Our mothers learned nothing other than to serve and to please
And here am I, enlightened but sedated
Imprisoned, captive, segregated
Dysmorphic now, a victim still
And all of this against my will

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