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To the woman that is about to jump off of the ledge
By Anthony Conwright:
Somewhere in the world there is a woman suffering from an unstable heart, being visited by the ghost of abusive relationships past standing on the edge of a skyscraper built on the foundation of her memories scared from a broken childhood.
I know I’m too late, and I know you can’t hear me, so first and foremost know that I speak with breath heavy with guilt and regret. That my silence may have had an invisible hand in pushing you into the emptiness you are about to fall into.
I want to give you wings made of words soft as feathers pressed to your shoulder blade with love, so that when you jump you can land in my arms.
I wish you could have found comfort in your laugh and that your muscles would have dug, deep into the pit of your stomach, hiccuping memories from watching our first sunset together. And if you jump, air would forget about gravity from being lost in your smell and that the concrete would have melted after seeing your smile. Or that a cushion of all the love you never knew you had would grow from cracks of a past full of pain and abuse.
I want you to know I would trade in every moment of intimacy we shared in exchange for one last phone call.
I wish I could be a superhero. I would create a justice league of supermen to combat sexism in the name of manhood and my superhero name would be Feminine Mystique and my superhero power would be breaking glass ceilings of oppression, but silence would be my kryptonite.
I would have taken your hits, endured your pain, and crawled back in to time and demand for death to give you a pardon. I feel pieces of your shattered heart in my own tears. Every time I cry, memories of you leaves cuts on my face. You carried your cross, but I carry your scars. Sometimes I see your face in the childhood that my daughter will never have. I see your face in the men that say I’ll never hit a women but I’ll shake the shit out of one.
I can feel sickness burning deep inside those hands disguised as restraint. I felt the bruises you left on her heart when she and I made love; I felt the death of her skin cells from your touch .How much did her skin have to burn in protest before you realized red means stop. I hope your conscience beats you with brass knuckles every time it’s father’s day. I want to tie your feet to concrete and watch you sink to the bottom of an ocean full of screams encapsulated within her tears and watch sink to the bottom. I hope your semen has the balls to commit suicide.
To the women that are about to jump off the ledge, there is strength in your character, strong enough for you to build another person inside of you. You can make a mosaics with the colors from the broken pieces of your emotions. Your backbone is stronger than the weight of man’s hands or his empty words. Before you jump, know that there are arms you can walk back into.