The Favored Martyr
Mighty, it cries out before you, and my heart falls beneath your sacred feet, cracked from the weight of days, etching the map of my loss.
Your manners object, trembling for their liberty to ease the chaos. With embrace, I was cursed to crave, expelled from your mercy, as if I were a shattered Lucifer.
Why not? It is the favored martyr.
I was the one who mourned; you banned condoling.
I was the one who raged; you restricted soothing.
I was the one who went extinct; you erased my existence.
Method? Blood by blood.
I, who painfully mend the deep, bleeding wounds; I, who desperately kiss the hands for crumbs of fleeting affection; I, who patiently wait for a warmth that vaguely resembles yours, yet you remain an observer.
Yes, I’m not the favored martyr.
I have died once, twice, thrice, forever reborn in the cruel loop of your duality.
There is no answer. I’m not the favored martyr.
Mother, purifier of all, flood me with the sacrifice of being seen. Carry my voice to the unseen, for I am beaten for protesting life, just life, as if life were a luxury, as if I had asked for a miracle.
As I ask myself, what is life? Is it to be seen, to be favored, to be treated as a whole?
Or was I created to be a shadow, a second draft, the one sacrificed so the system remains?
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#damus #grownostr #nostr #justice #freedom
