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Bruised

16 Jul

Good evening folks, I trust you are looking forward to the long weekend. I know I am.

Today’s post is a poem I wrote with @goldenwura. She blogs here

Enjoy the poem.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It came back to me in a rush

Memories of deeds done

Can’t be spoken, mustn’t be muttered

Whispered, can only float in circles

In the streams of thoughts and subconscious

Sharp pain piercing like icicles on a stormy night

 Putrid smells of antiseptic and blood

assail my nostrils and I’m forced to open my eyes

something is blocking the light which is good

the hazy image clears and takes the shape of father’s head

Worry and fear lining his once beautiful eyes

a tug on my finger has me looking into the eyes of my 6 year old brother

mother is nowhere to be found which is just fine

memories are coming and I don’t want to remember

father answers the unspoken questions in my eyes

questions I have answers to

but what he says stops my blood from flowing for 7 seconds

mother is alive? What?

the relief in his voice and eyes as he says something I didn’t pay attention to

makes my blood boil again.

I’m sure it exists nowhere else but our house

Where the wife is the drunk and abuser

Reversed roles if you please and father would do nothing

Wouldn’t even tell his best friend or see someone

For shame, what they would think of him

I ask to go see mother

I pray that she’s sleeping or unconscious so I can

Finish what I started

Chike lied, the poison was ineffective

She should be dead

I creep into her room

Feels like I’ve hit full potential

In bed she lays, unwashed and unkempt

Her dark sunken eyes open

Chapped lips break into a wry smile

She knew.

Incoherent words follow

She winces in pain

Waves of pity ladened with disgust submerge me within

But it disappears as fast as it came

Like a broken dam, my head is flooded with images

Of every single time she hit us

How can you say you love us

Yet hurt us with in every drunken rage

Odd to say she’ll protect us

But the bruises say otherwise

Father walks in

Places his hand on my back

I burst out in tears

We are free, but still in bondage

For vegetable she’ll remain, the rest of her days.

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1 Comment

Posted by on July 16, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , ,

One response to “Bruised

  1. Adeleke David

    July 16, 2015 at 4:57 pm

    Nice poem

     

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