Dear
you have been my greatest burden,
who turned my tongue into stone
and my words into concrete,
leaving my speech too heavy to be understood.
You have built walls out of shame,
and left dreams tumbling down,
as women need no homes for themselves,
but need to seek shelter underneath men’s fists.
You told me that women are best when quiet,
and if they talk, they will not be heared.
You told me that there are words women can not speak,
and if they do, they will be heared.
In a world full of hungry men and starving women,
I lost the balance of who I was
and who I should be.
When I weep, you say I will be fine,
as seeking help is shameful,
and every other woman cries sometimes, but does not complain.
Dear Self,
you had the audacity to say
breathe
while standing on my throat;
but today I am speaking.
Maybe you will hear my suffocating pain somewhere inbetween a world of lies and pure souls.
Jehona Thaqi©
