The Girl they Failed to Erase: in Memory of Anarcha Westcott

I cannot wonder

I cannot dream

I cannot ponder

I can only scream

 

At every cut

Every trickle of my blood

They call me « Good experiment »

As they open scars for dust

 

The pain anchored in my bones

Echoing through these empty halls

Enslaved at 17

Enslaved for more trials

 

I can only hope to forget

The ache as it had started

When I opened another’s eyes

And first saw that pain charted

 

The father of gynecology

Came from a woman himself

But that woman in question

Fled to somewhere else

 

For all this pain

For all this ache

For all these nightmares

To finally wake

 

More dreams than I can count

Of myself stone dead

And every time I close my eyes

They re-open with dread

 

Without anesthesia

Without consent

Without mercy

Of all those hours spent

 

All this torture ignored

For the sake of knowing

Because my pain doesn’t compare

To the ones now growing

 

I’ll watch father disappear

Up into the skies

With his name on gold trophies

And his honor recognized

 

They don’t know of my pain

They don’t know of the dreams

Or perhaps somehow they do

Maybe they don’t care what it means

 

The founding father flies high

Knowing underground is where I’ll forever be

People; just know that whatever is fed to you

Isn’t the truth you’re meant to see