Runaway Slave


“We took it so you can take it too”

The placative platitudes keep rolling in

Persistent nudging to accept fate

Because it validates their own surrender.

Misery loves company, hence seldom the thought:

“I didnt make it. But maybe she can”

Instead they preach what they’ve learned to accept

That womens lives aren’t worth their salt.

Despite the ceaseless refrain of:

“Who do you think you are?”

She wrent herself against the grain.

The bushes of scorn scraped at her skin

The judement jostled her as she ran past

Clouds of relief, tears and fear in her wake

But fleeing was imperative

This was no condition for a human being.

The fool preaches sermons on wifely servitude

Wailing about the loss of his human footstool

“I treated her badly but where is forgiveness?”

“If only she could disregard my abuse and treat me like a man!”

Sympathetic-eared peers slither close,

Glassy-eyed and salivating, in anticipation of their own turn

After all, God did say they were the head, and she the neck

After all, their weight was her birthright to carry

Meanwhile, the ‘pick-mes’ keen to win ‘best bondservant’

Sew aso-ebi with the red flags; proving peonage

to a dictator that is at best, benevolent

And at worst, the very fibre of the sunken place.

Indulging in an inherited ‘lose-lose’ game

Passed down because “thats just what you do”

Where the prize is to be an elevated domestic

And a loss of veto over your own life.

“Women do not fight to finish” they said.

An excuse for their willfull choice to look the other way.

‘They’ being the lawyers, the system, the friends and family

Their words revealing deep-seated defeat.

Broken people propping up brokenness to break you

Calling for unarmed negotiation with terrorists, professing concilliation instead of protection.

Post mortem they will say “it was Gods will”

As though ‘fair’ could exist between slave master and slave.

So run away girl! Run! Run deep into yourself.

You can and you must get to self-actualization

Radical self love is the only hill worth dying on

Not the mountain of self-erasure they like to call ‘virtuous’.

Grab your life by the collar and PULL!

Eyes ablaze, dare to fight for your own life! Emancipation is at your door.

Your disruption paves the way for your sisters and daughters

That someday, they too will dance instead.

By Kachi


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