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My Body Is A Resurrection | Laura Chioma Nnamdi

I want to tell you of the girl that lives inside me…

You told me to confide in you, as justification for the term we call ourselves;

Besties! So here it goes…

I am best when I am at my worst.

My mind is a castle of stones; fully guarded like the garden of Eden with two flaming

swords supervising its affairs

But when depression comes, it eats, eats and eats away like acid poured on one’s flesh.

I die daily, not waiting for the expiration of 3 days; I resurrect, to die again.

My body is a temple that rejects the prayers of its faithful.

I think suicidal, to slit my wrist makes me orgasm but I live the hell here on Earth,

And would have no need to visit Hades.

My art is an oxygen mask, giving me the life I need when I begin to drown in the

sea of my own tears.

Mother says I need to be delivered from the demons inside me;

Father says I am not his but the grown-up sperm of a mad man.

My Ex says I have too many baggage and running shows he loves me.

Society says it’s okay if I smile and look pretty, the world doesn’t want to know about

the darkness in my soul;

This is the discrimination that I face daily.

I would draw healing with razor blades and broken bottles on my skin,

Watch my blood flow as if with it went the ghost that lives inside me,

And then I stopped, when father took up the job, by speaking words sharper than

the daggers of the Hausa men that live down the street.

There is no escaping my own mind, it’s a volcano in there; with lava burning and melting.

But I don’t stay dead. I am strong Bestie. I die but I don’t stay dead. My body is a resurrection.

Photo by Christoph Keil on Unsplash

Published inPoetry&Musings

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