You're only in the healing process,
afterall it was only a few weeks ago you were raped;
your inarticulate nature did not allow you admit that it was indeed said term
"It confirmed it" you'll later scream,
but now, you only understand that you are less of a woman.
You now hated Sunday school.
After all, all Aunty Shola ever preached about was purity.
"That short skirt would put you in trouble!" she often yelled to the girls.
This Sunday it was more aggravating than normal,
'Uncle Daniel still couldn't hold his urge, even in my oversized uniform' you'd ponder exasperatedly through out the service.
The night you told mummy was not easy.
"Do you want to spend the rest of your life in my house?" she yelled too loud you feared she'd alert the neighbors. You only understood so much.
It must've been your fault, otherwise why would mummy tell you never to tell anyone?
You're now your own woman, still afraid to speak up.
You fight everyday to push down your misandristic thoughts.
"Only if i could spend all this ample time learning to love my body again" you'd say to yourself as you sit in the bath tub tending to yet another self inflicted injury.
Everyday you still hope that you'd at least be okay.
