This is a piece of spoken word composed about the innateness of misogyny. How for centuries it has ran rampant and untamed in our hearts and minds, changing the way we think, structuring our behaviours, punishing our minds for stepping out of line. Are we condemned to live under a constructed pretence for eternity?
Who built the foundations of a city
Or the pillars on a grecian porch.
The Cherubims and the acolytes,
Who are servants to a Lord-
A deeply penetrative being who is
embedded thrice into their core.
To forge a man-made dream.
Bearing youth in their arms,
She is thrown into the kiln to shape her mortal clay,
The blaze roars with haunted screams.
And Mount Sinai sings from the hallowed flames.
Made in likeness of a collectively wished upon Ivory maid.
A mosaic and frightening chimaera.
Encased in a tender prison.
Beneath her film of flesh,
The cursed things inside her grew
Fostering in the silence,
The leper will lose her colour,
And grow unappealing pockets of pus,
The workers will be beckoned back
Stone altar, iron anvil, Violent clangs,
His immortal finger strook,
Layer and layer, foreheads of sweat.
Sweet desire will ascend the blaze.
She is brought out once more,
Now cold and rounded stone,
Entangled in a forged reality.
In the centre of town she will go,
Offerings, sacrifices and endless prayer.
Frozen in a prison of physicality.
The lack of identity she cannot bear.
And ride the melodious wave.
Listen for the solemn sweet pipes
The wheezing of her aching organ,
Restless keys pressed down inside her soul
Barbaric yawps and guttural screams
Sounds sourced from the depths of the wild.
Beats of breath, syllables of her chest
Underscore the rhythm of a future hell born child.
Outside there is only silence.
Time wavers and her Sufferance will wilt.
Withering in the soil, scathing the forest oaks.
The ivory maid still stands,
Limbs broken and others fallen off.
Flesh daughters fear the statue with no name.
They know the basket that carries fruit,
But not the tender aches held within her frame.
She stands over the girls in withered glory,
The infernal serpent seeps from the cracks of stone
the girls are a solemn feast
A banquet ripe with immortality,
Flesh daughters and fresh slaughters,
Bearing the state of innocence
A worker's touch is inevitable,
They ride malleable waves.
The daughters are consumed by inevitability.
Wild animal turned on a spit,
Struck from mouth to anus,
Roasting, served in severed parts.
Spit strings of gluttony,
A foul odour from the mouth,
Overwhelming accords of greed,
Itās an Insatiable hunger, an unmoving void.
The ultimate talisman of humanity,
Siphon through the tide of history,
open your eyes in the darkness,
Feel the silence, know its stillness
Kiss it, touch it, hear it sing,
Let the expressive notes ring
The void will show you the truth.
Its darkness will multiply,
Lifetimes and decades will reveal themself
Let the experiences embody you,
Share the burden and know the stories
Renaissance middle age or enlightened,
Unfix yourself from what is set
Collect yourself in handfuls
There is no wind in the immovable darkness.
