My story


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I need to write, I have a story in me, but my fingers are gone taken by he who sits next to me.

Negative emotions are home to roost, forgiving is a luxury that I refuse to entertain. The hollow bellow that comes from my chest is foreign, it sounds like a wounded animal and not me at all.

I sit alone in the dark, nasty thoughts plaguing the corners of my mind. He comes with her home, they sit where we used to sit, he tells her what he used to tell me. I feel second best even though I know I am not, even though I know that I accepted mediocre and I paid for it.

My ebony skin, sun-kissed, shies away from the outside. My smile so easily given is hidden behind a clear mask, my expression frozen in a singular gaze. My womb that was slowly kicking with growing life has gone silent. Friends messages go un-replied, he tells them I am on a hike.

All these tears stained with blood have to be paid for surely. As another cries for the one they loved and lost, one who sits in a covered hole never to come up. I envy her who cries for the one who she saw die. At least she knows where his bones lie, at least her memories will be merciful and chose only the best. At least he cannot hurt her because he lacks the breath to whisper heartbreak. At least she is at peace crying for one who went willingly. Unlike me, plucked from the earth before I was at full bloom.

None cries for me because none knows. I cry for blood, I crave revenge. I cry for one who lived inside me for a what felt like a second and never got to see the light. I cry for the one that eats next to me, who lives like I didn’t exist. 

Each night, they feel the chill. He wakes up and turns up the heat which does no good. Not even the glow of their love-making keeps them warm. When he finally catches a drift, I sit and stare at his sleeping frame… I suck the breath from him… every single air molecule breathed in, I take two. In the morning he will wake up tired and cold and closer to joining me, the one he gladly sent to the other side. 

I pity her, soon she will be alone. Then I will come after her, I will enjoy seeing her suffer, she who made my man get rid of me so that he could be with her. 

Maybe then I shall write my story, maybe then the world will know my story. 

 

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