The Un-Supreme Court
Hi, I’m here again, I’ve put down my pen and lifted keyboard
As my brain move too quick for my hand these days, with the pain and anger that courses through my veins
Only a year on from my poem, dedicated to women, their power, their rights, their voice
My heart bleeds, literally bleeds, as I have to write this to down, to drown out the noise
The noise of wails and crying of my sisters dying and in pain across the pond
Of the suicides which will increase, and will never cease, with their muted voices, some will see no other choices
Of the unwanted children, that will placed into sin bins, as they were born, into homes who could not afford them – as we ignore the importance of parental guidance
From brunettes to blondes these men in shared thoughts and uniform are now filling the train carriages with women…bodies upon bodies crushed together, and we will all look on
They will be ostrasized or worse will die, as they hold on to each other for comfort as their life and rights drain away through the floorboards of those carriages
As did of the millions who were karalled in the same way some 80 years ago,
It is uncomfortable to see these trains filled with my sisters, but you cannot sit there and be shocked that there is no difference,
We have sat in apathy and let this rhetoric grow, as we allow ourselves to be polarised by the power
This is mass genocide, akin to the Holocaust, and I will not exhaust my language or tame my tongue, I’m 50 now and will protect the young – I will spit vile syntax directly at those who build the trains and tracks and sent my beautiful sisters to Auschwitz 2.0
And I am no hero, or a soapbox warrior, I have taken up arms and defended my beliefs, my nation, its future and all of its peeps. And if I thought any good could ever come, from grabbing my gun to hunt down these killers, these polite executioners, I would do so, guilt free.
But their decision to hurt and kill my sisters is based on hate, and anger, and my placing a bullet in between their eyes, will no abate the wave of support this remains ever-present and effervescent
At some stage the world, if it is really needed by some to be seen codified in a book, will create a movement based on the combined messages and guidance of the survival manuals of old – which will change as they grow.
Not the bastardised beliefs of barbaric books of fiction that play no part in any society, and cause death and global friction. This friction leads to fires which are kept alive by rights deniers
If you defend this, let’s talk, debate to end hate. I will pick apart your stance, and ignorance and if you don’t understand the simplicity of speech – with absolutely disrespect I will be that leach who extracts your toxins and gives you more options.
Whilst tearing down your warhorse of worship, my words will be acid for your thoughts and beliefs, no future scholars learn hate as revision, so we cleanse this planet of mass divisions.
I have gratitude, gratitude for my attitude that I am safe, my daughter is safe, her friends are safe and all of the women I know, are safe
But my heart is stretched west, ripping from my chest, from my town to the coast of barbarism,
The sinews and cells of my left atrium snapping, severing, crying, shouting – IS THIS HAPPENING?!
Civilisation, what frustration with this bureaucracy built on faecal hypocrisy
We are no better than the nations and tribes whom we belittle for the damage they do with customs and practice and their belief – orchestrated always by a man who’s the Chief
They do not have the benefit of medical knowledge or intervention, of fairness and life and the human rights convention.
If this decision to condemn my sisters to death and a life of guilt and mental stress is based on Christian values, explain to me exactly what they are
As I stand here confused, totally bemused and I refuse to think that any women would follow, this hollow foul stenching breathe, that only leads them to pain or worse, death
So is this another club for the men, in their filth and acrid den of shit as they pit themselves against the moral best, is this a test for who can commit the worst atrocities to humankind and our minds
Well, just stop in your tracks, as you have a history of death that spans a millennium and more, the ones you have crushed could populate a planet or score,
The blood of those lost would fill up new seas, all of this loss – a difference on beliefs
Despite being the people I enjoy being with the most – I am glad I am not a woman for some reasons , but two ring out the most
Nos 1 – I know that this poem, prose, rant on a page to expel my rage as tears collect between cheek and rim of my glasses, would be diluted due to my gender, being seen as slender and of course an obvious defender of the cause – they would not reflect or take time to pause
Nos 2 – that my life would feel in danger, as liberalism is a concept reserved for nice dinner parties and drinks, the links we make with those who think like us, love like us, sleep, dream and believe like us. There is no real care for the mares, just Pygmalion obsessed now with sweating and sinewed Stallions
His eyes have lost focus on Aphrodite, as she awoke with a voice, a brain, free thought, strength, opinions, never permitted for these minions…and her superiority in her fair face in this awful virus we call the human race is that she carried the one thing he could not do and never achieve, to choose when it is safe to carry life into this world, and to choose when to not. We have to preserve this – you must believe!
‘When it is safe to’ I choose these words wisely as we need to see that this is determined by men, who decide where and when. Men in power, this shit-shower of progress, and I confess that I am tired…tired of scribing poem upon fucking poem highlighting these demonic souls, whose hearts have holes, are cracked and black – does anyone listen – or are you tired or just missing?!
So our sculptor, now obsesses with death and destruction, with eruptions of toxic sperm and testosterone to pollute the wombs and tombs of this world, unchecked, unopposed, unashamed.
But us writers and creators, we must carry the flame and spread love through words, and pressure wash these turds from our path to serenity, to call out the penalties that oppress the pure of heart and mind, to just be kind.
The challenge we have is that kind doesn’t fill their pockets with fear based profits, it connects the masses and eradicates the classes – so we all are seen as one, this writhing throng of a beautiful planet with a billion stories, all to inspire with talks of glories – so that is our place, as we stand face to face, so use our plays, films, songs, poems and prose, to re-connect the hose and turn on the tap.
Our ice cold water of words, will be either a slap in the face or a tap on the back to say – just stop, look around you and think,
if you granddaughter, daughter, sister or wife were to die in childbirth, would you happily, no tears, let her slip from this earth, as the words of fiction that you see as so clear, would mean more to you than those you hold so dear?
If your answer is yes, then I won’t digress, or try to connect by filling your head with imagery or metaphors, as your claws will be too deep into your own flesh as you try to feel anything, something of note. And I cannot stand here to judge or gloat at how lost you are – a castle and moat with no bridge to draw down, no love around, spades in earth, the only sound!! Would you honestly see your loved ones die, knowing you had the power to help them survive?
I have to ask are you of this earth, are you part of humankind, permanently deaf and blissfully blind? I hope the world rises up and makes a wider stance, and takes all other countries into account – who condemn my sisters to death, or strip rights – and I will be there at the front in this fight.
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