My self, myself

It wasn’t my fault. As much as he would like me to wear the badge that society pins to me and indulgently seeks to displace from him, faulting the archaic ideal that it is in his nature. My self, is myself and does not by default belong to another, even when a choice is made to bind one to the other, still I am myself.

Societies idea of blame rests solely on the backs of past sins still held to a high standard of acceptance within many minds, both his and hers, and even though I know deep within that it is not my sin, society ensures that a deep, consuming guilt for atrocities made against her by him become exclusively owned by her.

I shed my tears not just for self, but you, and for the many still bound by lost and indentured freedoms holding tight to histories woes and keeping them manifest within a time proclaiming an evolution beyond crimes of a past, yet many crimes are not listed as crimes as my self and myself do understand wholely that such a crime did take place, not just in body but in mind and that crime against my self and myself, will ever torture future hopes, and dreams that once I sought but now am afraid to embark upon or endeavour to participate in.

Fearing to see it through, I keep your lie that you did do, to me, and watch you accept the warm embrace of the many for your crime against my body, my mind and my self, all utter words of sorrow that I would dare to share the truth of what society hides in plain sight and keeps well hidden with her. Enlightenment is a fairytale created by him to ensure his crimes against her remain preserved within the dark halls of regressed historical practices still functioning as they once did before she became human, according to him, and should it be foregrounded, his crimes become a sorrow he must bear and a shame she must keep.

His sorrow is in the knowledge that I would speak out against his crime, my shame is heavy and adorned by a society lost to the shadows and hidden from sight, in two minute sound bites. Each breath taken by her since his crime is fraught with an unwelcomed, unseen oppressiveness, held down by him and her of a society shamed to have its secrets told and yet loudly screams in outrage at the boldness of cultures who practice societies practices in relation to her and him, broadcasting their profane indignation at his crimes against her, then blindly and openly condemning her who bravely tells about him and his crimes.

No my body did not die for all to see, but it did die within me. No my mind did not implode for you to witness, but it crumbles every minute silently within me as she has been taught to keep such horrors to self, herself, myself, ourselves but because you cannot see my death that I die daily your outrage at his crime is hidden and kept in secret by those in society whose job it is to exposé such ills that still deny her, her freedoms so hard won by the many, yet in doing so a patchwork of sin was crafted to blanket the crimes of him against her because it is his nature and my shame that his nature overpowered my self, my being, cursed my life and plated his with gold’s and silvers defended by her and him in society tied and bound to keep its dark secrets well hidden.

Should he decide to boldly go where he and she have secreted, his sound bite would seek to implore the innocence of he, bound to his nature, and the shame that she must endure bound to societies mystification, confusing knowledge and obscuring a peoples understanding and enlightenment becomes a lesson for her and an endowment for him. Where did she become so lost that she knowingly builds the strongholds crafted so neatly by the she’s caught up in the lie that is her truth that he is bound to his nature and she must endure her shame, that is his.

Un yonder places – Stream of thoughts in my head

Image sourced from FaceBook.

Soft gold’s revel in shades of greys and greens of pasts long ago and those now catching upon soils of damp remembrances Dancing along drifting waves And curling thunders as each tree sways down paths and over mountains Out into blue swept skies laced with clouding rims of whites resembling floss and buds of roses in May caught in drafts both ups and downs streams long hair, aprons and gowns whilst the flutter of wings calm them along melodious song and chirpings call, her face stems from the boughs great hold and shadowing stony grounds covered in winter grasses caught in drafts of old Rooted leaves sweep lost roads building their cavernous spaces un yonder places dwelt in stone and rock Swallowed and regurgitated hollows Ring their silent speaking so all may reckon its wake.