Please also note that this is not a comprehensive, complete story. It is a fragment of the many stories of many women (and some men). This story is also inspired by some of my own life events. Appreciate this part of my mind / piece of my heart.
He was her bad habit
Like bitten nails on nubby finger pads
Picking at healing scabs
Uncomfortable, yet comforting
And who could gauge what's worse?
Her seeming complacency
Or his contentment with lending hurt
He passed out jabs like Rocky and beef slabs
Leaving her rare, black and blue
Willing herself to believe that this love was true
And this not only affects her, it's killing her kids, two
And she'll never see her grow up, and wipe her tears
Never tell him it's okay to cry while facing his fears
He'd buried wounds so deep, it's difficult to dig in and heal
So she let the infection steep and tried to conceal
Until she wasted inwardly away
All but a beautiful bandaged corpse
And those she knew would say, 'but he showed such great remorse!'
'She must have done something wrong!'
'Why did she make him so upset?'
'She must've done something she'd soon find to regret'
There ain't no rest for the wicked
Her offender walks free
As she lay gone forever
It was her fault; it must be
Auntie Nina sang to me tales of Billie clubs beating Black bodies
And Hollidays past
The bitter taste of festive cakes and pies made of Strange Fruit
They made jest and just expect us to ingest hateful truths
We hang while our forefathers laugh
Everybody knows about Mississippi, God.
Everybody knows about Alabama, God.
Everybody knows about South Africa, God.
Everybody knows about LA, God.
Everybody knows about Texas, God.
Everybody knows about Florida, God.
Everybody knows about Nigeria, God.
Everybody knows about New York, God.
Everybody knows about Ferguson, God.
Everybody knows about Kenya, God.
Everybody knows about Baltimore, God.