For me, sacrifice is nice, but martyrdom is only a vice?: A poem 

I can stay afloat in air, fire, earth; without a thought of dirt 

even if there is too much revelry by treachery in purloining my honesty 

You can see that my fortress is not out of the woods on a purlieu 

There is no such thing for me as an ambivalent and comfortable milieu 

Even my snide can be taken for a ride, but I will never be a submissive bride 

to sodomisers who have committed crimes to profligate my decline 

I have been sublime, bided my time, been raped and rapined 

Does conscience dictate my tormentors, who jubilantly thought I was blind?

I am no cadaver, I have turned every corner with my sacrifice 

There is a response with bravery to an atmosphere of degenerate lies 

You know that my loyalties are so consigned to vulnerability to cabal 

It is not much worth the exercise of treating this villainy with a label 

One treacherous shamelessness pervades because of another treacherous shamelessness’ design 

At least, I am very sure that I know it is not me who has to, with shame and guilt, resign!