I walk down the dangerous road when I let you roam around my mind again. It was the same night I decided to erase the block of walls I built to ward off predators like you. You know why? Because I’m a survivor back then. But now? Now I’m a warrior. I pick up guns and shoot anyone that dares to get close. I put up with lies and slap them back onto the people that betray me. Once you shout, I’ll bark like an alarmed bulldog. Once you shoot, I’ll pick up my bazooka and break your face right then.
Since you have already standing on my floor, I shall tell you about my fort. It was built the day after you touched me, you see. It gets thicker along time, and its height is insurmountable. Rarely people take notice of the walls, because the plain look repels them. They’d rather climb up the ones filled with budding roses or swaying dandelions. I learnt that people will walk away as soon as they completed their true intention or reached the result they want. Such a young age, being able to comprehend such things. Of course, I reached that conclusion when I get older. But I tasted it long before that.
I’m not afraid of you. Come near. Nearer. Don’t stop walking. Let me show you what this woman can do. This woman you once pinned on her childhood bed, innocence ripped out from her. She can seduce you to a better bed, the one threaded with poisonous thorns. You won’t feel a thing, then you will feel everything. You will learn the thing you’ve done with your own hands, and more than that, you will see for yourself how it eats you away from the core of your rotten soul. This woman is soft and alluring, strong and passionate. She knows which spot to press, and which to gently touch. Her grace will burn your manliness to the ground.
I’m not afraid of you. Your shadow is not cast on my fate no more. Lie down. Tell me to stop hurting you. Try and pull away your arms. The scream that used to be mine, lodged at the end of my throat, let it out for the whole world to hear. My curves are not stained by your lustful sweat. My gentle lips are smeared with red lipstick rather than blood. You will burn yourself out, but I will not miss the warmth of your fire. I will not yearn for your last words.
This woman is her own.
Fudz Lana is a freelance poet and writer from Malaysia. She is a student from a local university, pursuing degree in English Language and Literature. She dreams of becoming an editor in the future.