The world was blown away by a fem positive revolution around 2010/11.My little world at the time was taken by storm by Oprah and Ellen. I decided i had found the word i was looking for. To hear an echo of what was my story from a woman of color and a queer woman both from the across the globe inspired me. I made the mistake of speaking the word to my father. It was at a family dinner, he had just served himself the lion share(oh the African culture) and was settling comfortably into his seat.I turned to my mother and told her we had learnt about rape at school that day. My mother did not miss a beat, she said " That is not table conversation."
The very next day and every day after that there was a cold knife on my neck when he came to take me.
I realize that I had been captivated by the success stories. I had looked past the process of coming to terms. I tried again, when i met my first girlfriend five years ago, and this time I was ready for the hurt, confusion, guilt and apology. Sometimes i forget, and I tell the story with so much confidence it is easy to ignore that I did not walk away like them superhero do from them explosions. I am still trapped in that empty place, with the fire that is rape around me, five years after I told another soul, I am still piecing together my own.
I had strayed from the plan, by even speaking of it, I had moved ranks below what a lady was in my society. Granted I was not assigned all the blame, but I was tainted, stained, and my value kept diminishing until when it was time to tell the story before a judge, I felt like even his execution would not be enough. I was given a month to 'heal and move on', and then they forgot. To this day my mother looks at me with a heavy sadness in her eyes, and society keeps checking up on me, trying to repair the tracks for my plans to move ahead. I fear I am tied to the rails this time, the plan might move forward, but I have to trust the process.
The very next day and every day after that there was a cold knife on my neck when he came to take me.
I realize that I had been captivated by the success stories. I had looked past the process of coming to terms. I tried again, when i met my first girlfriend five years ago, and this time I was ready for the hurt, confusion, guilt and apology. Sometimes i forget, and I tell the story with so much confidence it is easy to ignore that I did not walk away like them superhero do from them explosions. I am still trapped in that empty place, with the fire that is rape around me, five years after I told another soul, I am still piecing together my own.
I had strayed from the plan, by even speaking of it, I had moved ranks below what a lady was in my society. Granted I was not assigned all the blame, but I was tainted, stained, and my value kept diminishing until when it was time to tell the story before a judge, I felt like even his execution would not be enough. I was given a month to 'heal and move on', and then they forgot. To this day my mother looks at me with a heavy sadness in her eyes, and society keeps checking up on me, trying to repair the tracks for my plans to move ahead. I fear I am tied to the rails this time, the plan might move forward, but I have to trust the process.
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