I know you hate
those dark fingerprints
on your skin.

You tried your best
sometimes with soap,
sometimes with sandpaper,
to scrub yourself clean.

You even tried the kitchen knife once
to dig out the wound
and let the poison bleed.

None of it really worked
and you forgot how to heal,

When dark was all that was left,
you looked into the mirror one day
and it stared back at you with rage.

It was time to break the chains
and dismiss the misogyny cage.

The scars on your feisty flesh, no more, were wounds to hide,
they were angry streaks of fire
that you loved to wear with pride.

Pain couldn't drown you.
Fear couldn't choke you.
You held them by a leash.

And the impure hands
that breached your soul
now live with a quiet death wish.

You are alone
but you are enough,
don't let them make you a tool.
The Aphrodite in you has had her share,
now let your Athena rule.

.     .     .