Blood

 

She looked at the thick red liquid that flowed freely from her wrist. She loved the feeling of blood flowing out of her body. To her, it was almost like her worries finding an outlet. But it never really worked, for too long. The worries came back again to haunt her. And then she would have to cut open herself to let them out again.

She had grown immune to the pain. Her body was covered in scars that she hid under her long sleeves. She did not mind them anymore. They were part of her existence.  At this moment several images flashed through her head. For some unexplainable reason she remembered his face, in the midst of her happy agony. Cheeks that resembled a chipmunk’s and greasy hair that reflected light. He was beautiful and charming in a roguish manner. She remembered his face through curls and wisps of the Wills Classic Mild Cigarette he would often smoke. “At least I’ll die slower than those who smoke a strong” he would joke whenever she questioned him about his smoking habit.

He was wrong.

She reflected upon her memories of him as she continued bleeding it out to lessen her pain.

‘The Lie’ by Maya Angelou

‘The Lie’ is one of my favourite poems written by Maya Angelou. I read it for the first time in my literature class, thanks to Mrs Stevens, my amazing literature teacher in college. The poem captures a young woman’s emotions after a break-up and also the way she chooses to defend her ego and walk away rather than try to win back her lover/boyfriend and appear weak. I’m not too fond of poetry, however, reading this poem always makes me smile. 

                                                 

                                                              The Lie

Today, you threaten to leave me.

I hold curses, in my mouth,

which could flood your path, sear

bottomless chasms in your road.

I keep, behind my lips,

invectives capable of tearing

the septum from your

nostrils and the skin from your back.

Tears, copious as a spring rain,

are checked in ducts

and screams are crowded in a corner

of my throat.

You are leaving?

 

Aloud, I say:

I’ll help you pack, but it’s getting late,

I have to hurry or miss my date.

When I return, I know you’ll be gone.

Do drop a line or telephone.

 

Maya Angelou