There Is Still Time
It is odd how one can become accustomed to the blows
The initial strike seems unbearable
You are certain the closed fist will be the last thing you feel
As you lose your balance
Finding your head repeatedly bouncing up and down
Against the flat cement floor
Whose ice-like surface will soon be the only comfort
You are permitted
Lying in your own sticky, hot, and clumping blood
Your body throbbing
You instinctually wonder what you did today
To be deserving of such a reprimand
Soon you will have to say thank you
And beg to be made worthy of the time and energy
Which correcting you requires
But you cannot yet speak
The words are trapped
Behind your swollen lips and crushed teeth
Is it time to be grateful
You wonder in the small
Hidden crevasse of your soul
Which you pray still belongs to you
Has your lesson come to an end for today
Wait
Repent
Hurry
How dare you feel entitled to any part of your being
You admonish yourself
It is a lesson you should have already learned
Remember
You tried to write a thought
Oh no
Have your thoughts been detected
You wonder
As the electrical wires ripped from the wall
Soon find the bare flesh of your arms and legs
No
The lesson is not over
Though tired
Looking at you
Stirs feet to respond
To the disgust you represent
You offer nothing
You are without value
Why do you breathe the same air
The voice cuts off
As the tip of the boot strikes your head
Your agony is motivating
You must surrender control over your body
Do not seek cover
Or shield your breast from the stomping feet
Submit and accept
You know the mantra well
But apparently not well enough
If you try to slip away
Even for a moment
The sprays of water will follow
Either hot or cold
The choice will not be yours
You must be awake
For the time on you
Not to have been wasted
Open your eyes
Now
Or they will be permanently closed
They feel crusted over
You are not certain why
It cannot have been tears
As those are un-allowed
The lips form familiar words
You know how to react
Moving onto your knees
Bowing your head down
You wait
It is over
The feet depart
You close your eyes
And fall on your side
Corrected
But not yet perfected
There is still time
~ Cristina Jill Mosqueda ~
