The skin I peeled with my bloodied nails was torn and bruised.
It felt like chalk and a pumice of the deepest shade of blues,
Although once it was bright, living and oozing with spirit.
You see, I am but a woman and being so is of very little merit.
So, the ones who knew better, or so they believe.
Sought to teach me how virtuous it is to cook and to weave.
And by far, I have made cloth from my identity and my being.
I have sewed my words into lines of my heart—always wildly beating.
But a woman is not supposed to have a red heart.
The only red I am allowed is my “unholy” blood and my secret art.
Of being deceptive and of being a witch…
So they tell the young man who is “great” but is mostly just rich’,
“Stay clear of the ‘dark lady’ and her cruel hand,
Or come with us to beat into her some sense, since you, like us, are a man!”
They marched into my workroom with pitchforks and fire.
For they were to ruin me and my “evilness” with their blazing ire.
So I scrambled and I hid and I left myself behind.
In a burning mill of womanly desires and a fate that was already divined.
Yet, on my pyre I was mutilated some more—
My rotting flesh prodded and my soul snatched away from my core.
Beasts wearing faces of men held in their calloused fists my name and pride.
They killed me once but twice I died.
When they were done and long gone, all that was left was firewood and embers.
And lore of how easily a woman surrenders, But do they know she also promises vengeance?
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Hi! I’m Kaushiki Chowdhury. I’m a prospective undergraduate and I intend to pursue english with an elective of film studies. I enjoy reading books and my current read is “A Little Life”
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