By Hilda Odein Joshua-Jack
I am bleeding.
You don’t care though,
You are after satisfaction.
When you wanted to pay for something,
I thought it was for the crayfish I sold,
You told me to wait in the passage while you got my fee,
I wasn’t going into your room after all,
Mama told me that men could be bad.
A guy was coming from the other side,
But it was too late to realise,
I was bundled up in your room…
Bruised from manhandling,
Scorned from criticisms,
Weary of crying,
I take in my fate,
I start to feel,
I feel as you pull my clothes off,
I feel as my sex is violated,
I feel the intense pain,
I feel raw dryness,
But you do not feel it,
You go in and out moaning with pleasure,
And I, cringing with turmoil
I feel ashamed,
And for the first time,
I fear the world.
When you are done, the man from the hallway takes over,
By now, I am numb,
I wish to die ,
I bleed from it all,
The blood stinging my injured hole..
My eyes bleeding tears,
My soul bleeding apart,
I pray to die again,
You warn me to not tell,
Else I die,
But I have lived through death,
I do not fear death now,
I fear me.
What I will become,
I fear stigma.
I pick up my tray of crayfish,
Not bothering to collect my naira,
You have paid bountifully , I say and turn my back.
You laugh heartily.
I leave with the fear of being discovered.
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