There Once was a Monster

Marlena Ceballos, Writer

There once was a monster that loved to watch women burn; started it all, it turned into another generation of monsters that fought against another generation of hard-working peasants daughters of farmers, ancestors were explorers from possibly Africa, Italy, and Spain, after several generations arose a queen from this generation who was finally able to speak against the pain

She spoke there were slave owners of these women and literally spoke it all, I mean literally spoke it all… and the sleazy character of the slave owners arose outta the generation that was left of these slave owners; just as the women were about to break free, he tried denying me of my freedom of speech…so that’s when the peasant in me fought cause now that I had the power of a queen, I had the power to tell him his words didn’t hurt me, and so this man in a king mentality decided to try to claim death on me cause I was bold enough and spoke against the disgusting shit that his previous generation put me through…


But my king reversed the cycle of every curse he wished on me and now this man suffers pain…so now I’m a bit more at peace, but this narrative piece isn’t complete

until I mention that only two of these women have yet to achieve their fullest potential…to gain status as queen because they’ve spoken out against the generation of slave owners that robbed them of their sexual innocence…far too many more from various generations, some from the same and innumerable ancestries have yet to do same….

I’ve given you ..

Bits and pieces, but not enough pieces to see the entire picture of the puzzle…I been literally making my dreams a reality, both literal ones and metaphors…I been makin’ dreams a reality since the day that I was born, I hit the ground running, that was metaphorically, but now but I’m both metaphorically and physically running cause this life’s a game we play and on fasted paced lane, but every time I can catch glimpse of the bigger picture I have to stop and think of the women that were left behind…are they okay?Na, I mean really if they bottle that shit up is it possible to remain psychologically sane?

Venting this shit out leaves me with a bit more of some psychological sanity

…far too many women from various generations some from my same and innumerable ancestries have have had the courage to speak against their slave owners…will you be bold enough?