MangOh

Not to find peace or some sort of self justice,

But instead for the comfort of being forgotten,

To simply fade away into nothingness.

I have made myself small,

Insignificant,

Pleasant and sociable.

The scars on my back are a testament,

Deep red trailing down my spine,

As I grip my flesh in contained rage.

Why am I expected to be pathetic?

If I am to be gutted either way,

I would prefer to become a bloody beacon,

My hair matted with coppery substances,

While my eyes are set ablaze.

I will hunt those who seek to destroy me,

Aid those who wish for shelter,

And wage war on this world that demeans me.

I am trapped in a woman’s body,

Limited by makeshift shackles,

But my freedom is near.

So when I break free,

Fear for your lives,

I will kill for my Justice,

And bathe in a sea of Red.

I find myself wandering empty halls and endless doors, Hoping to find some semblance of a younger self, To convince myself that I am real. I stare at my hand for a long moment, As it shakes gently, My reflection warping in the mirror.  There is a deep pit in the centre of my body, An empty bullet wound, Where sympathetic words pass through. Perhaps soon I will be able to look at the sky, Staring numbly at the ever changing colours, But keeping my eyes dry. Soon is what I whisper, Over and over, Like a mindless chant. Soon. Soon. Soon.