"No," I said it once,

"No," I said it twice,
then the third time
and then the fourth,
and by the eleventh,
I was too bold of (my)
self pride to hold your
arms from touching
my skin at places where
it was alive from within,
but you didn't stop,
you scrapped every bit
of it off, and now as the
clock strikes five, I wait
for a miracle to come and
fix my displayed scars because
they heave blood, and I
spit at you to leave them
alone. I won't let you
live with what you've
made of me, what I've
become, surmounted with
the burden of continuing
to prove my body and how
it is not going to be left
at your gazing, gruesome
eyes and sadistic, sordid smirk,
and I won't, in my entirety,
let you live with yourself.
this is misogyny, and I am
an antichrist, and my gun
fired two speeding bullets.
this is misogyny, and I am
a human being, and the
bullets thrashed your heart,
while your soul fled to another
unspoken understanding with
another voice too soft;
This is misogyny, and I am
a believer in hell, and your
soul might escape my grasp
but it'll never dwell well,
it'll be pained at the eyes
of one sole accusation,
that you are not a believer,
not an antichrist, not a
human being- you are not
a living creature, not a man,
only a mere smudge of inability.