Your Forgotten

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Dedicated to angel1009 for her votes and comments that makes me smile so hard. Thank you hon. 💞💞

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11:59pm,
S

unday, 4th of June 2017.

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To the woman who birthed me,

From behind piles of clothes, I watched you walk in and out of the dressing room with a smile on your face.

This was supposed to be my day but as long as you were in a happy mood, that was enough to bring a smile on my face.

After trying on different jeans, looking for the one that didn't force me to tuck in my stomach and ignoring your subtle jabs at my weight, we went to get smoothies.

As we sat down opposite each other waiting for our order, I watched you chew on a gum with your eyes glued to your phone.

My eyes kept moving down to your tiny stomach and then back to your face.

How can you be so calm?

Is this why you've been acting different these days?

I couldn't help but imagine that man touching you and if I wasn't hungry then I might've puked.

Why did you let him touch you?

Growing up, I'd always wanted a baby sister that I could pick on and tease, that I could braid her hair during the weekends, that I could send to do all my chores.

I still want one but not in that house.

I don't want her to grow up with him as her father. I don't want her to see the things that I have to put up with.

I don't want her to grow up thinking that no one loves her, that there's no one there for her.

I don't want her to be the object of transferred aggression.

I don't want her to feel uncomfortable in her skin or feel like she has to be a certain way for her mother to notice her.

I don't want her to come back to school each day with a story to tell only to shut out by everybody.

I don't want her to be shipped off to boarding school because there's too much violent scenes at home for her innocent eyes.

I don't want her childhood days to be stolen away from her before she can even walk.

I want to love her, to protect her, guide her, feed her, be her nanny not some lady that keeps checking the clock and counting the days till her next pay.

I want to be there for her always so she'll never feel alone for a second.

But what about when you package me back to boarding school? How can I leave knowing what she'll go through because I've been there?

How can I live with myself knowing she'll wake up in the morning to see dried blood in the hallway that they missed while cleaning?

Our family isn't ready ma.

You're not ready, he's not ready, I'm not ready.

I hope you understand this.

Your Forgotten,
Mola.