BROKEN

All I had was a box of tissue,
Damaged.
All I had was my pillow to cry on,
Frustrated.
All I had was my diary to share my woes with.
Alone.


September 6, I was exactly fourteen
When I was made into a thing
My dad was two years dead
And my mum was just wedded

He snuck into my room
And ever since, my nights spelled D-O-O-M
Fifteen, I topped the list of abortion
Oh! Not again! I can’t find my menstruation!


Many would wonder,
If sharing my story is such a hard task.
I would have told my mother,
But she’s forcefully eloping with breast cancer.
Hoping the days would flash back.

I had nowhere to go
And my light ceased to glow
He keeps coming
I became tired of running.

She is the sunshine in my day
But her lover (cancer) is selling her to death without pay
She was all the joy I could get
But her life ticks to sunset


I feel dead already
I feel empty and shady
I have no future;
There is no dream to nurture!


So painful;
All I had was knife to slit my wrist
Gladdened to draw my own blood with my unclenched fist.
If I had known better to use the knife on him instead of me.

©JEDIDAH