The Song of the Scream – Poetry

The Song of the Scream
by C. Mascott

A woman in Aleppo screamed as she committed suicide to avoid being raped when the rebel forces fell
A woman in Ohio will scream as she dies trying to give herself a home abortion
A woman in New York screams to deaf ears on the subway as she’s beaten for simply covering her head
A woman in LA screams and cries herself to sleep , passed over for the new male boss that has no expertise in her field
A woman in Pakistan screams as she’s stoned by her family for marrying the wrong man
A woman with a black eye in London screams at her kids to pack their few possessions more quickly so that they can escape before their abuser returns from the pub
A woman in Chicago screams over the body of her drive by murdered child lying on the sidewalk
A woman in Indonesia screams in fake sexual pleasure, playing at pleasing and teasing, knowing her john is perverted enough not to care that she’s actually not really a woman yet
A woman on the floor of the Senate in Washington recites the screams of a woman oppressed and is told to be silent
A woman watches all this and more from her digital window
and screams
with them, for them

It is a primal scream
deep, devoid of all light
one of those kinds of screams that rips from your soul every pretension of happiness,
every touch of refinement
a bestial scream of ultimate pain
the kind of sound that would rise holding the head of a decapitated loved one
or in the bittersweet searing and ripping pain of birthing a stillborn child

but woman has been told only to release this scream
in a stream of politically correct discourse
this scream must only be expressed through the softest of language, the gentlest of tone
because no one listens when a woman screams
no one likes a woman who screams
too feminine, too emotional, judged

the woman speaks quietly, trying to be heard. And is spoken over
she waits silently, patiently to speak her turn again
a turn that never comes, for the other voices escalate in self importance
drowning the quiet voice in the noise of their own agenda
She speaks softly again, hoping to be finally heard with the force of repetition
and receives condescension in return

what has being soft gained woman?
what has being silent gained?
what is needed to be gained demands an end of silence,
an end of etiquette

demands we let loose the primal fierceness of the mother, protector
demands we use the gift of emotion as a weapon to fire our resolve
to scream with every ounce of all we possess
to declare with a voice of power
not needing outside confirmation that we are worthy enough to use it to say
I am not less than
I am not yours and you do not choose for me
you shall not chain me
I am.

what exists now, has been built by the hands of my oppressors
it is wrong and I reject it

For I am so much more than you can conceive
and I know I scare the shit out of you
because I can scream,
and when I do
there is no sound you can make that could drown me out
When I force you to hear my glorious voice next to yours
you feel minuscule next to the sound of my fury
and you should
for my song is unleashed because of your contempt
and it sings of the majestic, it sings of the holy
it sings of the aberrant , the spreading sickness and takes it to task
it sings with the strength of moral certainty
striking resistance in the jealous hearts of empty heads and bankrupt souls

I am coming to claim what has been denied
with a scream so definitive I pray it will never be questioned again
but who knows what the future will bring
for our screams will vibrate the quantum strings
to play a song never heard before
the sound of woman
the sound of fury
the sound of birth
of something completely new
loud enough to make the universe dance to the song of the scream


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