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.