A deep wound throbs
In my chest-
Questions bubble on my tongue
But I force them back-
Anger, a rare shade of red
Blinds me as hours tick by-
Your absence is a thralling reminder
Of your weakness-
I have blossomed over the years,
Weeding out those who
Harmed my growth
And praising the loyal friends
Who spurned me on
As I made the decision to stand tall.
But as harsh words are exchanged
With a heated, reckless passion,
Wounded eyes and bruised lips
Assumptions, assumptions
Are spread like a damning plague.
Like Bodieca I stride on, battle ready
And buxom breast bare, unashamed
Of my diligence-a battle cry
rings in the vomit spattered night.
Empty bottles litter the cement
As my righteous troops follow,
Glass shattering, sticky juices
Unable to deter my path!
When I look in the mirror,
I see a woman with scars,
Steady eyes and heartbreakingly lovely
But when you look upon my
reflection, when did you ever see weakness?
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 