Now my bundle of joy is just
three months old,
Happy for him but inside am cold,
Before the act I was a girl made
of gold,
Listening to this big army man of
the story untold,
With his experience now I know
why only few are told.
I was a village girl with dreams,
In love with men who would do the
extremes,
Moving into their poetic words
streams,
But this one was the devil in
disguise,
With his “love” I got baptized,
Drowned in it now am traumatized.
I held to the promise that I’d do this after
marriage,
He kept on insisting that I’m a
coward, I should have courage,
He used my love for him as
leverage,
I’d do it but I had to keep the heritage,
Impatience made him drug my beverage,
Took advantage and wished I had a
miscarriage.”
I write this story as the son to
this beast,
My sun rises from the west not
east,
My heart is clouded by mist,
Tired of always cutting my wrist,
To let this story be heard at
least.
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