Chronicles of a strong woman
a strong woman has died. it began while she was struggling with the reality of believing 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". others had said, "we always felt she should've screamed or even moaned with the pain. her life had dealt her a terrible blow." but, i know really she was just angry. but in the end they all would say, " when she was sick, she never wanted anyone to know of the pain she was in. she made us think that it may have been some type of inconvenience to us. she gave us no time to offer her some help". so, she died from an overdose of other people's problem solvers.
you may know the ones... the ones who could not cling to her until after the funeral. she died when she didn't even have the energy to help herself. she died from raising her children alone and not being able to do a good job even of that.
she died from the lies her mother told her before. and that her grandmother lies came about from the lies that were told to her own grandmother, which came from her mother. a mother, who died when life was too much for her. it was another fabrication of what truth looks like. you know the ones...the ones that are called a " lie", which eventually becomes all our "truths".
she died, believing a man can treat you well and how to seek for them among the other women who may or may not have 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 to her one day. how the humilation of having him was making her feel quilty. of having his love in the first place when he wanted to be with someone else. he became the true source of ruination of her life. she died wishing the blame would go somewhere else. she died from loving men who rather not love her because they could not even love themselves. she died by crippling herself into believing she was a reflection of what his love needed.
she died from being battered by someone who claimed to be in love with her. someone who claimed that the hits were a signs of his love.
it was a way he makes love to her that kept her still for many years. she died with the acceptance that the beating were truely love pats, "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 on for the new 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 was posing as her sisters. she died from pretending that the life she was living was a Kodak snapshot moment in someone elses timeframe. a perfect moment of a lie, portraying itself as the truth again. she died from tolerating a Ms. Pitiful role in a play that never would end correctly. she could have had that man and that big fanciful house. but, she really died from the lack of orgasms. she never could understand how to tell him how to make her body sing with happiness when he was available to come to her. 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", my sister.
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 too much. from being raped. from being whipped. from not going 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 too. goals that were set forth before them and could never be met. cheers for those who could not reach her succes level. 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 words of all the 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, one too many times. 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 has said he didn't want much anyway, until he left her for another woman, who gave him more than enough.
she died from the castration of life from an imaginary fairy tale called a novel that revealed a what "true" looked like.
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 final breath.
she died from loneliness in the birthing room. the aloneness of being in an abortion clinic one 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 of the neglect of when the next hit will reach her. she died in her mind, fighting life as a victim of self. it was by the arrival of the rolling bed, to cart her out of the emergency room into the operating room of death's surprises.
somtimes she thought she could refuse to die and she had to force herself to take the matter in her own hands. she thought she could refuse to give into the life of make- believe. she died refusing to believe 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. her name is "M.E."!
by JEAN'S 👸