I survived

If there were words used to tell my story, there wouldn’t be any

just scars and wounds that do not scab

I used to hide them, but the way I fell for you

was still visible on me.

I could tell you I was doing ok,

that this life had granted me my dreams later

After freeing myself off you

so I stopped writing about love

Love became an afterthought

I became its symbol

I was afraid to let go

Of a life I had made with you

Afraid to be alone

in a life were love was everything

so I held on, onto the hurt

held on, onto the mistakes

But here I am, alive, well, loving, loved

and you are not there anymore

Now love is what love was supposed to be

kind, patient and not demanding

Love doesn’t hurt me

as it used to when I was with you

I am glad I survived

I am glad I can write



My Truth

It will take

more than words

to express the emotions

that stay pressured inside.

You cannot ease the burden,

trust me,

my truth will hurt me,

seeing you feel pain for me.

Tears have weighed down

and hid this smile.

While you try to laugh off

this brokenness of mine,

it won’t be easy to say,

I am ok, when I wasn’t.

I was too weak

to state how loneliness

befriended this heart

that loves quickly.

And it would hurt me,

seeing you feel pain for me.

So rather don’t

ask me questions of which

their answers will break you.

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.



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