CitizensGovSpace

No Cover Up, No Photoshop She woke up to the metallic taste of the red liquid in her mouth. Head to toe, her body felt sore, damaged, washed-out. Attempts to move attracted tears like unlike poles on a magnet. Unending waterworks that burned as it streamed down to the earth. Tomorrow come, so sorrow goes away. No longer gleeful but consumed by grief. Safety and self-worth now make-believe. Memories shattered by the ever-present souvenir. Scars engraved like tribal marks; spread all over. A piece of her constantly fades away. The heavens, far from calm. She could see hails of thorns. Surely angels are evil. Cos, they hurt just like demons. Pain has morphed her skin harder than the armadillo’s. She has become obsessed to inflicting loss. So, pieces of you and I slowly decay. But what must be today to push sorrow away? Today, to make sure she does not pass away. The way out is not cover-up, not photoshop. The right path is listen, action a...

Not Too Late to Wake Up http://moziru.com/images/violence-clipart-violence-against-woman-8.jpg She disagreed with him, so missiles attacked her face. Her baby cheeks were now engraved with his palm. Constellations of stars heralded her slump. Time was frozen. She had entered limbo.                 I just hope that she wakes up. She finally regains consciousness but disbelief is stronger than the impulse to cry. Maybe this is penance for her wrongs of before. She ponders for what feels like ages and decides to ignore. “It was an accident. He wasn’t himself". Her last thoughts to bed.                 I just hope that she wakes up. At dawn, she is baptised in rivers of apologies. “It won’t happen again”. He insists on bended knees. He is pleading and swearing in the name of several deities. Assuring her that everything will get better.               ...