When I taught Sunday School, I used to teach my students that there is more than one way to murder a person.
You can murder a person by lying or gossiping about them to the point that the person has to change who they are, where they work, or where they live because they can no longer function in the hostile environment that you created with your lies or unwanted truth.
This poem, ‘I, Who Was Murdered,’ speaks to that. Because I know, first hand, what it’s like to have your dreams, hopes, and wishes murdered.
Excerpt from A Woman’s Voices: Book of Poems
I, Who Was Murdered
I, who have had every inch of my flesh seared and burned from my bones
I, who live with my innards exposed.
I, who have learned to walk on bloody feet.
I, who comfort others with bony sinewed hands
I, who love with a heart of ash
I, who have never flinched when others turn and run in horror at the sight of me
I, who have lived life even thou I am dead
I, who was murdered, have harmed no man.
Eliza D. Ankum
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