A morning of free writing that’s left me wondering who she is. ~ LY.

There were four of them. Four men grasping what part of me they could. Fingers clasping my arms, my legs, holding my head still. I squeezed my lungs free of 18 years of inhales and shot them out to the heavens.

‘Get them off me, Lord, get them off!’

My legs wooden in their pulls, arms lead within their shoves – why couldn’t they see her? Why couldn’t they see her etching through her wrist as she sang my name? Why couldn’t they hear the lullaby as the blood dripped? Why couldn’t they see the sneer of a smile; her red stained teeth that oozed a melody that scratched every inch of me.

They held on even as my body surrendered. Even as my eyelids gave way and my head flopped to the side. They didn’t stop. Unrelenting in their mission to violate my freedoms. Stripping me bare of my right to be called a person; of my right to just be.

I let go. Let them do as they will. I’ve always been a prisoner, anyway. To be locked up another night, or a week, or a decade – I don’t care. I let go and drifted to the recess of safety. Their drugs can’t reach me here. They’ll think they’ve tamed me, but their drugs can’t reach me here.

© LaYinka Sanni, March 2014.


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