Ripped

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They’d put me on a pedestral
Like I’d been done before
They’d rip off
My flesh and my bones
They oozed out my blood
And all that which made ‘me’
But it wasn’t the first time
I’d had this happening.
They’d rip me
Perhaps it was paining
Perhaps it wasn’t
But it wasn’t the first time
I’d had this happening.
What was, however, the first time
Was the face I saw on them.
It didn’t contain contempt
For, this time
They’d only ripped my body
Not my soul.
They’d ripped
And stripped me
Of my flesh, my ego.
So that,
This time
I could hug my soul.
The next time
Someone tried ripping my flesh
They’d know
It wouldn’t matter
For my flesh isn’t where I stay anymore.

© Madhulika Mitra 2017

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