Petition updateDemand Mount Sinai NYC Hospital Address OBGYN ViolenceTrigger Warning: Tasting Iron on My Tongue | Why Won't She Back Down?!?!
Roslyn SmithNew York, NY, United States
Aug 21, 2022

Hello Friends, Family, & Supporters, 

It has been challenging to heal from my experience at Mount Sinai while also advocating for systemic change. I see why people suffer in silence and do not come forward when these things happen. At this point I have had to relive the experience countless times through retelling what occurred to those that express a hint of actually caring through inquiry. 

I am still trekking along and hope to have some exciting updates soon, in the interim, I was inspired to write a poem that elaborates on my resolve to stay the course. 

Tasting Iron on My Tongue | Why Won't She Back Down?!?! 

 

Why won’t she just back down?!?!

I have walked through the door of no return, this time by choice instead of brutal force.

Using my voice costs no skin off my back.

Are you mad that it is 2022 and not 1822?

That I don’t have to just bend over, take it raw and suffer in silence.

Ok let me give you all more credit.

Something more on brand with your pattern for centuries.

Maybe you like the spectacle.

My public loss of dignity and self-respect stimulates your primal ancestral yearnings.

I should add to your learned sickness.

Would you prefer I aid you in making your institution more traditional?

Perhaps I should return, step up on a table and kneel nude in a room of twelve or so white men.

Satisfy your insatiable hunger and thirst to dominate women like me.

Would my shrieks and writhing for release humor you?

When the wounds close ever so slightly, would you then stiffly wear me out?

In and Out, In and Out, you growl, sigh, and release.

The next time you feel the urge to ooze all over me, would you bring a crowd? Let at least two, three, four, or five get a dip?
Or maybe the crew would sit back and giddily watch, jeering all the way through.

Would you dig a hole for my belly full of a half caste fetus so that the leather knots strike right?

I have an inkling that no one has brought it to you quite like this before.

Are you frustrated that you have no power to “put me in my place”?

You should be.

I will never give up.

I know you’re not used to dealing with a real one.

One that you cannot manipulate, gaslight, and control like your token hires.

I can see them now, smiling and taping dancing to your rhythm yet complaining privately.

Sometimes they even paint themselves as victims.

Brought on staff for a disingenuous purpose without ever effectuating meaningful progress.

Really just there to smooth it over with people who look like them so you can avoid accountability.

I know what you are thinking, contrary to your biases I did not just hatch.

“We told someone that looks like you to say we’re sorry”

“Isn’t that enough for you Black B — -?”

I can read your energy, pretending to ignore the problem will not solve it.

I wonder what you do to keep them all line.

Do you sear them with titles and positions?

New school branding of the minds, mentally maimed, covered in keloids and disconnected.

Dangle a new expanded role on the horizon?

Do you smoke out and suffocate the ones that resist or demonstrate a true sense of self?

Maybe you shackle up the bad ones together and violate their mouths.

A name engraved on some meaningless piece glass or buried in an obscure textbook.

That’s all it really takes, empty validation and false approval from Anglo-Saxons.

A little handclap and shallow praise, add a sprinkle of prestige and give them a few more pieces of silver that the others like you have been determined unworthy of… no matter how much they labor a week.

You are used to the ones that will do and say anything to stay in the Big House.

They cannot leave or get too burned out because that’s all their fragile self-esteem is built on.

This is why they can rationalize doing the good ol okie doke no matter the situation or circumstance.

Fitting in with you and the ego supply that comes from proximity with you is all they have to live for at any cost.

Who needs a soul anyway?

A soul, conscience, and general sense of right and wrong would defile the altar you have built to your true Gods with the most supreme chief of all Gods, Our Dear Lord Capitalism.

The highest of the high and the world’s number one religion.

After all when have the rules and perceived norms of society ever had congruency with natural laws of humanity especially for women like me?

Do you now understand? Are those colonial synapses finally connecting the dots? Can you truly see your draconian self or would you prefer I strip down and reenact all of the good deeds women like me have endured?

I am done accepting that which is unacceptable, and I am not alone.

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