You’ve been fighting yourself. Struggling with your conscience. A little voice in your head says you should know better. It also asks ‘What would your mother think?’ You shudder a little but then you smile a little because your inherent craziness is genetic. People rarely go crazy on their own unless something super traumatic happens to them.
This craziness hasn’t come out of nowhere. Watching Lemonade and deciding to only absorb the first half of the video since it speaks to your soul. Your mind is still marinating under Anger and playing it religiously. Forgetting all the other bits about reformation and forgiveness because that isn’t where your mind is at.
Toying with the principle of ‘Forgive and Forget,’ and deciding against a Biblical approach. Deciding to do the necessary first then you’ll seek forgiveness later. Since thinking about the sin preceding this one makes you feel white hot. Questioning the very existence of your sanity.
Were you asleep with your eyes wide open? Were they simply blind to idiocy? Wondering how to react? When to react? And with whom to react? How will you know when you’ve gone too far?
A voice in a faraway land told you that your plan is stupid. It added that you need to see past him and relinquish his hold over you. Blah blah, it mentioned lots of other things that you pretended to ponder over about and act normal.
A different gentler voice insinuates that you ought to forgive and forget. Make peace with the past so that it doesn’t screw you in the future. You say screw that.
Tonight, he will kiss my ring, sobbing uncontrollably with a shattering brokenness. I will teach him whatever the world has refused to teach him. It’s not every day that you taste blood in your mouth. He’ll be an exception to the rules. Knowing that you rarely hold on to grudges because it’s not within you. You don’t want to be the crazy lady but then again isn’t that what all crazy ladies think.
‘Where can I get a metal baseball bat? I want to feel metal in the palm of my hands,’ you dream about secretly in your head.
Each time, your feet hit the pavement and arms dangle by your side. You can only imagine him tasting your right knuckle and exploding into shock.
Fluffing your natural black Afro in front of a mirror, applying red lipstick and straightening out your black dress.
You ask yourself ‘Where am I going to find a vibrator and henna at this time?’ remembering the others, you smile back at yourself.
I can be crazy all I want. Breathing fire and remembering that I have an inner fierceness from those before me. You’re a descendant of Mau Mau. Planning to discipline him. Beating the devil out of him. Hoping not to lose your cool. Planning ahead knowing that you’ll rain hell and fire when you cross paths with him.
Simply diabolic. This dog needs to be tamed and strung up as a silent warning to anyone else playing games.
The other feminists will burn up their bras, march alongside you and create a circle of defence. The Past. The Present. The Future. All together. Ready to unveil the darkness that threatens to consume you.
He’ll know you did it: He’ll never be able to prove it.