Sad Woman

Woke up a sad woman,

My disgust I never hid behind mascara,

He stands beside the wall mirror,

“Come on honey, hide your bruises,

Cover your face, conceal your tears”,

I hesitate,

“Don’t you want to look good?”

He wields a whip,

Lashes it on my hip,

Bending me to his will.

Woke up a sad woman,

Mouth forever shut not anymore,

Foully stenched silence of historical suppression,

Yes! I can speak the language I deem fit for me,

Not the one you enslaved me with,

Neither will I cower at the sight of a rusty barrel,

Emitting bullets,

Ending my existence.

Woke up a sad woman,

Countrymen limbs chained to a post,

Breast-less bodies expeditiously torn,

Voices chanting freedom in my backyard,

Like a fevered puppy on doggy titties,

He sits in the high castle,

Strumming his knifed mustache,

Gun pointed at my head,

“If your sons do not pay, I will take your lands”

As Written by Phill Ibsen

(Master of Descriptions)