Stop Staring

Ever watched is the one who carries a womb.

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I never spoke aloud for myself, the doctors birthed the words for me.

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I never carried you to term, the man robed in family filth, generations of White power, wrote that you should die.

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I never chose to close down the shop that is my heart. Massacres of ancient dreams, ancestral and primal needs torn to bloody shreds by the hands of society. By modernity. By the cleansing lack of 'savageness'. 

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Eyes dance across my body as if it were a rug to walk upon, admiring the motifs burned into my skin, the red hues of bruises and cuts precisely placed by His hand. A doll. To perform, and to be placed.

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No rest.