If i weren’t a woman

by anahita sharma

if death lay his intricate fingers on the skin of my back and ripped every ounce of hope in my heart, his touch would have been softer, even kinder, than the poison buried deep in your palms

his claws would retract and his hands would caress the scars you left as you tore me apart,

and unlike Midas his touch would heal, and he’d have a soul to spare, even recite a verse from the psalms 

in the dark your shadow grew and your fangs came out to play, you bit me enough, save me the shame, my pleas mean nothing as the demon engulfed me whole, the leaky jar keeps filling, the danaids crying below

like sisyphus, their efforts remain futile as your touch continues to curse its path,

even death shies away and 12 years later i replace her on the boat at river styx, waiting for change, hoping i’m the last

but by nights end you transform, and the lycan in you rests, sleeping away as you scour the world in search for another young and hooded girl, maybe she heard about me today, maybe she’ll hear about me tomorrow, i wish her the best

“beware of the tycoon,” they all say, never once bringing out their rusting pitch forks to come out and fight, “burn him to the stake” i would shout if you hadn’t drowned my voice with your heinous acts of crime

“don’t provoke the beast,” they preach in movies, only coming after the innocent, never once condemning the beast, “he hurt me,” men will be men, but he is nothing short of a brute

in some corner of the earth you’ll find me in the sunsets, not as a memory, but a warning for what the night brings, for the monster who defiled me lurks among you, searching for its next prey

death’s scythe came to my rescue while the devil walks around unfazed, left me gutted and aghast,

if i weren’t a woman, maybe he wouldn’t have crossed my path.