Chronicles of a strong woman
a strong woman has died. it began while she was struggling with the reality of a myth. the strong woman has now passed away. an autopsy was done and it was reported she died of natural causes. those who knew of her said, "she was always so silent. we always felt she should have been screaming or moaning with the pain of life. but she only was angry". they would all say, " when she was sick and did not want anyone to know her pain. she made us think it may inconvenience someone to help her". she died from an overdose of other people's problems, who would cling to her. she died when she didn't even have the energy for herself. she died from raising children alone and not being able to do a good job at it.
she died from the lies her mother told before that came from her grandmother. the lies that were told to her grandmother, that came from her mother. she died when life was told to her as a lie, which eventually became a truth. she died on how a man can treat you well and how to seek them among the other women who may have wanted him. how the purpose is to land yourself a husband. she died from being sexual abused as a child and having to take that truth everywhere, silently. she died exchanging her truths with anyone who would listen, one day. how this humilation of having him was making her feel quilty of having his love in the first place. he became the true source of ruining her life. she died wishing the blame would go somewhere else. she died from loving men who rather not love her but could not even love themselves. she died by crippling herself into believing she was a reflection of what his love was.
she died from being battered by someone who claimed to be in love with her. who claimed that the hits were a sign of the way he makes love. she died with the acceptance that the beating were true, "he sees my love for him, now", she would say to herself. she died always loving him back, no matter what he was doing to her. she died from inhaling the smoke. she died not knowing that the cough she brought up contained blood and the secretes of bile that was supposed to burn down from this same smoke. she died from a nervous breakdown that was given to her in order to relieve the pain of what she thought was real. she died with the entitlement of having more than what she had thought before. she died from being reponsible for everything bad that happened in her life. she was always the last one to be picked for the job on hand. she died with the belief in becoming the first to be dumped on.
she died from becoming a mother at 15 1/2, a grandmother at 30, and dead by 45. she died from being dragged down by the perception that the un-involved woman were posing as her sisters. she died from pretending that the life she was living was a Kodak snapshot. a perfect moment of a lie, portraying itself as the truth. she died from tolerating a Ms. Pitiful role in a play that never would end, so she could have that man and a big house. she died from the lack of orgasms. she never could understand how to tell him how to make her body sing with happiness. she never learned the meaning of the word "NO". she was always surrounded by the arms that was tender and warm from another woman. she died knowing that the same arms were from a woman who was a potraying herself as a daughter of the "Mighty Comforter".
she died from sacrificing herself from everybody else's pain. she died when she realized what she really wanted was to be a dancer, a singer, an artist or a poet. she died from the lie of omissions by not bringing him down. she died from the memories of being snatched away. from being loved. from being raped. from being whipped to go to work when she really wanted just to stay at home to sleep. she died from getting accolades from her co-workers. you know the ones, the ones who tried to reach their goals that were set forth before them. for those who could not reach her success. she died when they showered her with their dead words and their empty songs of praise.
she died from the myths that would not allow her to show her weakness. by being chastised by the lazy and hazy of all lies to keep her still. she died from hiding her true feelings until they became hard and bitter from invading her womb and her breasts, with hard angry tumors. she died from receiving punishments from being too honest about her life. she died from being called a bitch. from being verbal, a dyke, too loud, from being aggresive, and then, a whore, who can pick her own lovers. she died from never being enough of a woman for her current man. of not becoming too much for him, who said he didn't want much anyway, until he left her for another woman, who gave him more than enough.
she died from castration. she died
when somebody thought of her as being of a real woman or a woman who was portrayed as less than a man. she died from being misinformed about her mind, her body, and from the extensive lies about herself becoming a reigning Queen to her future King. she
died with her knees pressed too close together, because the respect was never to be part of the foreplay. it was the lie which was really what he was trying to shove into her before her death.
she died from loneliness in the birthing room. the aloneness of being in an abortion clinic, a month too late. she died of the shock, while in the courtroom, sitting alone, on seeing the sight of her children legally and even, unillegally being lynched by the system's protocol. she died in the bathrooms of her own vomit. she died watching her veins burst open with the self hatred and neglect of when the next hit will reach her. she died in her mind, fighting life as a victim. by the arrival of the rolling bed to cart her out of the emergency room into the operating room of death's surprise. somtimes she thought she could refuse to die. she thought she could refuse to give into the life of make- believe. she died of refusing the rule to be executed in the world of hi-tech ignorance, a lethal weapon.
she is a strong woman, who can now remain silent.
i knew her once before, you see, she gave me permission to write her story. she died as a strong woman.