I am a woman who drags the chains of her ancestors around her ankles, neck and wrists.
I am a woman who harbours open wounds created by whips and bullets of society.
I am a woman who is descendant of a slave nation, but always forgets that part of herself on a first impression basis.
I am a woman who wears ropes on her head to remind her of how her people were lynched.
I am a woman who chokes on the words of the national anthem, they never seem to make it past her teeth, but instead stick to the roof of her mouth.
I am a woman who has thought of every scenario that could lead to her death but the repetitive idea of the worldly protectors blasting a bullet through her skull seems like an inevitable incident.
I am a woman who often blends into the shadows, waiting to emerge, hiding from the sun’s rays, which she often dodges in fear.
I am a woman who embodies a wilted Halfeti Rose, cut roughly, its petal’s boiled down made into perfume by its flourist. Scents of warm lavender kissed with chilling peppermint and the essence of vanilla.
I am a woman who is encased in a hour glass frame, hangs crooked on a wall of a museum (the only place a female like her belongs). A sign below her reads “DO NOT TOUCH” in red letters, but despite the command she experiences the pokes and smearing of fingerprints all over her frame. She is an inanimate object. No value. Hanging still, the vibrations of sharp comments and judgement cause her glass to slowly crack.
I am a woman who is waiting to burst out.
Halfeti Rose also called the Arab Bride or Arab Beauty described to be a rare , deep crimson rose that appears black to the naked eye. These jewels grow in the village of Halfeti, Turkey, where The Euphrates River provides ideal soil and growing conditions. The roses blooms in small numbers , they start off as a scarlet red then fade into a black as summer progresses.
http://images5.fanpop.com/image/photos/28300000/Black-Rose-becca-stevens-28391113-600-434.jpg
