Death of a woman
This poem has been written as part of an art therapy programme provided by Nine Red Presents.
The poems depict the very real and raw emotions from survivors of domestic abuse, sexual assault and child abuse.
If you are affected by anything you read in this poem, then please follow the links for support.
About the piece
This performance piece focuses on the collective female experience, that although each experience is personal to each woman, the emotions are shared and relatable.
Death of a woman
If you have known me then, known me before the anger set in, before I became bitter and critical from disappointment.
If you had known me then, eight months pregnant with tomorrows not yet forgotten dreams, full of wonder and promise.
If you had known me then, before the harsh realities of life broke my spirit.
If only you had known me then, known me, before I died.
K in English
I died from being put down by un-evolved women pretending to be sisters.
I died from pretending that the life I was living was a Kodak moment and not a 21st century nightmare.
I died from tolerating Mr. Pitiful cos I wanted a man around the house.
I died from sacrificing myself, my body, everything, when what I really wanted was to go to Art School.
I died from hiding my real feelings until they became hard and bitter enough to invade my body like angry tumours.
D in Nigerian
I died of an overdose of other people clinging to me when I didn’t even have energy for myself.
I died from loving men who where unable to love themselves, and so where unable to love me also.
I died by raising children alone, and not being able to do a complete job.
M in English
I died from being sexually abused as a child and that memory following me everyday of my life, exchanging humiliation for guilt and then back again.
I died from being beaten by someone who said he loved me, and I allowed him to beat me to prove I loved him back.
I died of asphyxiation; coughing up blood from secrets, I kept trying to keep buried.
And finally, I died cos the buck always stopped at my feet, and there was no one I could dump on.
C in Irish
I died from being sexually abused as a child and that memory following me everyday of my life, exchanging humiliation for guilt and then back again.
I died from being beaten by someone who said he loved me, and I allowed him to beat me to prove I loved him back.
I died of asphyxiation; coughing up blood from secrets, I kept trying to keep buried.
And finally, I died cos the buck always stopped at my feet, and there was no one I could dump on.
Patsy in English
I died of an overdose of other people clinging to me when I didn’t even have energy for myself.
I died from loving men who where unable to love themselves, and so where unable to love me also.
I died by raising children alone, and not being able to do a complete job.
D in English
I died of aloneness in a maternity ward, giving birth to my son, and then I died of loneliness at his graveside when I buried him.
I died from being too much for the men I wanted, and not enough for the man I loved.
And in the end, I just died, not for a reason, and not for a cause, I just got tired of fighting, so I gave up and I died.
K in Hungarian
I died from being put down by un-evolved women pretending to be sisters.
I died from pretending that the life I was living was a Kodak moment and not a 21st century nightmare.
I died from tolerating Mr. Pitiful cos I wanted a man around the house.
I died from sacrificing myself, my body, everything, when what I really wanted was to go to Art School.
I died from hiding my real feelings until they became hard and bitter enough to invade my body like angry tumours.
C in English
If you had known me then, you may have been able to rescue me.
If you had known me then, I would have taught you, that there is an art to being here in this world, an art that can be mastered, if we can learn to love, honour and respect ourselves, by simply living, feeling, and being… a woman.
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