BROKEN.
He came bearing gifts
Spinning
rhetorics with his plastic smile
I stood in the
midday sun
Apathy and
fatigue etched in my face
The man in white
agbada was talking
His litany of
promises made me sick
A group were holding up his posters, chanting support
I examined them
in amusement
Frail-looking
old women
Young, jobless
men
Hoarse voices
and rumbling stomachs
My face fell as
I saw Okoro
The shame and the memories came flooding in
Of feeling
bloated and having strange cravings
Of innumerable
ultrasound scans saying the same thing
Of countless
beatings from my step-mother and name-calling
Of the race from
the abortionist's table
Of seven months
of loneliness and eventual loss
I looked at the man and then at Okoro
'Evil people!' I
stopped short of screaming
I was a naive
damsel, eyes filled with laughter
Okoro showered
me with gifts and attention
He said I was
his angel and it sounded funny
After months of
wooing, I went to his house
Once inside, he bolted the door
I sat a safe
distance from him
After drinking
the juice he served me, I felt woozy
I woke up on his
bed, feeling sore
I looked for
something, anything, to cover my nakedness
There was blood
on the sheets
©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.
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