Ophelia Writes Her Own Suicide Note

men like you have a name
and it isn’t Love,
no matter how much I tried to believe it was.
see, I wasn’t created for Love;
I was created for you
and I never belonged to myself.
my body rested on the tip of your tongue,
folded underneath the criticisms of my father,
forgotten in the wind of my brother’s absence.
I was made to be defined by a man’s name
and never my own.
see, girls like me have a name
and it’s one we are told to keep hidden in our chests
to make room for the names men have given us.
I answered to Wife, Witch, or Whore–
I forgot about Woman
because whenever I showed signs of humanity
they called it crazy,
called my womanhood madness,
called your madness acceptable,
turned my name into a syndrome,
turned yours into a masterpiece.
men like you have a name and it’s one that I beat into my brain,
a name that was pounded into my heart
over my own.
I’ve heard
men love fucking Crazy Girls
because they will forget themselves in you.
I’ve heard
men hate for us to talk about fucking
because it shows we have forgotten ourselves.
I’ve heard
rosemary is for remembrance.
I’ve heard
my heart call out my name in whispers
and it sounded like Me.
I’ve heard
the river say my name like
Love.
I intend to answer it.

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