Crucified Working Girl: Past Life Trauma

lady briyani

CW Very graphic crucifixion descriptions of a sex worker woman who was crucified by Roman authorities- but it ends on how it inspires me today.

by lady briyani

Pull out the ruins of my teeth: we’ll make joyous love as cop cars and stars burn out around us

Dreams like these always beckon me after a night’s labour-

Dreams like this, always haunted me: always affirmed my womanhood in crimson

I remember the girl I was in a life long lived!

I close my eyes and see my ancestresses beckon me to their crosses

Crosses no church wants to see let alone display

Crosses that decorated the sides of highways like the monuments to car accidents

I am like my mothers and sisters before me

Outstretched for them on this piece of wood

Wrists and ankled roping my sky clad body to the cross

Thirsty, eyes glaring in the Sun, teeth bared in a grimace of pain

Give bitter drinks to sedate and tame me

(as if the flagrum’s claws didn’t do that already-!)

As the nails shock me

As the nails shock me

As lightning bolts of pain flow like molten white hot metal through my wrists and ankles

My whipped back scraping rough unforgiving timber

Swallowed their numbing potion, no friend’s tincture but my head swims even more in the summer heat

The laughter of the leering men, the haughty mothers glad to see an errant, sinful woman punished justly ring in my ears as my head shakes

As my head shakes

I twist and squirm, trying to deal with the agony

Roman military might

My brown skin burning in the sunlight

Cope with the pain-

Impossible to, when even breathing hurts, even crying hurts, sobbing, whimpering my mother’s name

Wishing I could have gifted life to a child in my belly

Wondering how long I’ll last in this heat

Wondering too, at the way my body is pinned by wrist and ankle to this cross, a girl unworthy of pity, let alone respect

Left alone

Just me and the Sun

My thoughts my swollen tongue murmurs my cracked lips barely greet the words, hardly let them pass-

“I am a working girl, I am a whore, a slut, a bitch, a tramp, a piece of shit…a thief. A murderess…so they say. A soldier takes advantage-he later took a dagger-what can I say?”

Sighing, I try to…foolish, I know! once more shift my body in a way that will cause me less agony

Gasping, I once more attempt to balance, try to position my ass right on the corner edge of the stipes, try to bear the unbearable and put my weight on my spiked heel bones

My eyes roll back

My throat is far too dry to scream anymore

“Hadassah of Tyre – Murderess Whore”

Above my head, worn around my neck as I carried the crossbeam my wrists are now nailed to

Not that my name matters much, lowly criminal that I am

I am today’s show to be forgotten in a month

Hours hours hours

Soaked in blood, sweat and tears truly

I finally gasp my last

My brown bare body slumps lower

On my cross for a final time

I awake in a cold sweat sobbing once more

Try to regain my composure once more

Frantically look at my wrists, down at my body once more

To find I am not outstretched on a Roman cross as a conquered brown woman

To find the fire still burns within my heart with pure rage

Like the nails burned through the delicate flesh and bone and nerves of the girl I was and am