By Scheherazade
They called me shameless
A disgrace
For falling in love
For wanting control over my own life
The heart wants what it wants
What could I have done?
When I came home that night
Trying to creep into my bed
There they were
Waiting for me instead.
Rage on their faces.
Slut
Whore
Beghairat, they said.
All I wanted was to be free
Soar with these wings
Fly, wherever the wind would take me
But I carried their honour
Like a noose around my neck
Which became tight
Until one day it snuffed out my life
Robbing me of my dreams.
And robbed me of it too
I cry no more
For I know
They are the ones without honour
My spirit lives on
In each and every woman
For evermore.
Scheherazade is a writer by day and poet by night. Her pen is a mighty weapon and she will make you bleed with ink. You can read her poems on Instagram.
