We have forgotten

I do not expect you to understand my pain for it wasn’t your body that was touched, prodded, poked, in places once sacred now no longer secret, now they are displayed publicly in photos and videos you like and share at that moment. In that time you think you feel my embarrassment yet you do nothing more than label me a a statistic and the next day, you forget.

I do not blame you, we just wanted to grew up and protect ourselves

But we grew up broken and they? Outspoken

To talk about us, to us as if we weren’t there.

We grew up. Silenced. And they? Liberated. To take anything anytime from us our bodies were not our own. We grew up

Because it is only when someone is beaten do we remember how precious life is only when someone is raped, do we remember privacy and self expression rights we have for ourselves.

Only when someone is killed do we remember the sanctity of life.

Shouldn’t we be aware all the time? And converse about these issues without a reminder of an international day?

Because every day someone is beaten, insulted, raped, killed, affected infected.

AIDS is no longer fashionable right? We’ve just stopped talking about it cause ARVs can help us.

But still there are people who have no clue of the pain about what it is to love and to lose to HIV.

We are tired right? We no longer want to talk about the pain. We’d rather click, swipe, screenshot, steal people’s stories into our own.

We forgot the scars we bare were once wounds and they can’t heal. Because we chose to ignore the elephant I’m the room. That HIV is here, ignoring it doesn’t make it disappear.


I am not the only one


This poem is a collection of stories that need to be heard.

These dates will not go down in history because they are not important and not yours to remember….

July 7th 2007, a boy snapped my bra without permission

Some girls laughed, maybe you were one of them.

August 28th 2011, a man whistled and threw stones at me for refusing to talk back.

July 18th 2015, my boyfriend smashed me against the wall and said he was sorry

November 9th 2015, my boyfriend wiped off my make up with slaps, insinuating I had another man

October 15th 2017 A man told me to my face a woman is powerless and nothing without a man.

But I am not the only one, who had to wear layers of clothing in fear to show a bit a flesh to strangers

To men, who wait preying on young girls forgetting their mothers were little girls.

I had to be modest, society tells me.

I am not the only one

Who had to sieve their words when angry

For a woman is expected to listen more and talk less

Society tells me!

I am not the only one who had to carry the baby of their molester

For church doesn’t allow abortion and society tells you a woman is credible only when they’ve given birth.

They disregard the pain apparently the ends justify the means. Right?

I am not the only one who got a lifetime sickness and got trapped by unswalloble pills.

Cousellers do not allow me to heal they tell me to deal with my hurt as if it can be erased. It can’t be.

I am not only one who lost babies due to miscarriages due toxic love that abuser would change.

I am not the only one who watched their mother lay mercilessly on the floor at the hands of a father drunk on power.

I am not the only one.

P.A.W. © 2017

This needs to be done.

Until we teach boys that teasing are not jokes, they are a foundation to hurt.

That they will grow up into abuse, thinking it’s cool when it’s not.

That the names they call girls and the way they treat them is not right.

That they should recognize their humanity and cry when in pain.

That they lose nothing in being a man who doesn’t make others worthless.

Until we teach young girls to respect their bodies.

To not display them in the name of fashion and rights.

To speak up when been done wrong. To use words as the weapon.

We tell them that a girl is precious. We make them feel precious.

We instill self love and make it an inprenetable wall to protect themselves.

And when we remove this ‘man are stronger and better’ and we make boys and girls know and realize their potential to be a different and intended generation.

A generation that heals, that mends, that loves.

We remove the stigma, the gossip and the divisions.

Only can we win gender based violence. Because then we will be just human.

As of now, our praises to men who beat women.,

Our shared laughs to men who beat men,

Our cycle of never ending emotional and verbal abuse,

Our lose and hurtful expressions in the name of cool,

Our degenerate disrespect towards our elders.

Will leave us just as animals.

It starts from the beginning.

Love became

wanted to be whole.
But I was broken
I was stolen
You left a hole
Inside this heart
And I can’t be.
The hurt parts,
Branding fists
The mocking songs
The open wounds.
You became the knife
And the salt to my life
You cut
I still bleed.
It can’t stop.
This can’t scab,
I gave you too much.
Just for your touch.
Now I hide
Eyes wide
I seek refuge in strangers
I ignored the dangers.
For their pain
I could control
Not yours
Not your concrete stains.
You drained me.
You made me hate love
Love became the abuse
Being used
Being weak
Being broken
I just want to be whole
But I can’t be the same
I bare the scars
The memories…

Blue Mondays

I will


You in your sleep

Keep this deep

Feeling of you stealing

Pieces of me

Tucked away buried with you…
Its true.

Hues of blue

Blur out this silent shout:

‘I am stuck on you like glue!’

Dont you have a clue?

This is,

‘I am dreading Monday’

Cause it holds my anxiety

Like my next dreams.

In whose breathes

I get closer to dying.

In trying

To not be less poetic

For this love is toxic.

The topic is that,

Mondays are blue,

Especially those filled

With her crushing on you.

My sky, moon and stars.

I have yearned to align with you

Become a constellation

Of emotion

As I birth our sun

Burning with energy.

Yet gravity

Pulls me back to reality.

Then my muse

Becomes a ruse.

You leave me blue,

Saddened that my pride

Restricts me to tag you anyway.

For the days

She portrays you 

have me hating

Mondays in ways 

I cant explain.

This pain.
Hues of blue

Blur out this silent shout

This ground

Mutes my sound

I found comfort in 

Wanting your face in my book

The inspiration look

That hook that took

Parts of me

Cant you see?

I write books

Of how your face took

Resedence in this heart.

Calm me down

For I drown

Into you

Each day

In each way

I pray

You stay

Mine…but you never

Belonged to me

In any time.
But its true

You are not a crush

So I will not rush

To blush.

Its much more

Its sore

It hurts to the core.