In the face
Of no voice,
the eyes to a sight.
Her struggle for a name,
For an entity,
To save face.
Is it a woman who must beg,
For a saviour,
Is she incapable of all else?
Is it right for a woman
who doesn’t conform
to the norm,
To be treated as a threat?
To be placed as second best?
For she is but just a woman.
-Unable to fathom the pain evident,
In tired, heavy hearted souls;
I continue, Smiling.
My laughter lines contradict those,
Ingrained upon their foreheads.
Their heavy hearted souls examine
The empty heartedness of mine.
I am lost; in the bliss of my discoveries,
They are lost; in the bleakness of fate.
Their interests mimic my own.
So why am I not aggrieved?
Why do I fail to feel?
I see her crawl from the Jaws of Death.
Painstakingly, Laboriously, Narrowly.
Though I see what I see, I do not see.
They are encapsulated in prayer;
In the hopes of a miracle, divine.
I am encapsulated by life’s pleasures.
Their souls are pure,
Mine is embroiled in its dark abyss.
Yet whilst their heavy hearted souls tire,
As she crawls from Death himself,