The statistics are too far gone to claim: us
Me and the girls that carry my anguish
Sometimes I want to find someone to blame
Someone to imprison with guilt or at the every least point a finger at
But such people only come under the cover of night and have their way
Tears no longer account for the pain, they flow too easily
And immediately forgotten
If I had been placed in this life-altering predicament
By one such I loved then it would be different
But in nightmares I re-face the faceless violation
Re-live the day my life ended

Some say it was because I am full of beauty
Yet the mirror tells no such lies
Days follow weeks where I have no one to account for that night
Except me.
I hear the whisperings and feel the stares
From far I can be seen as damaged goods
And who is there to tell me it wasn’t my fault when the world is against me
The few that try to comfort me say I can do anything I want in life
But how do I live when my days are numbered?

Welcome to adolescence in Zimbabwe
I have read that poverty is in the mind, so Lord make rich in spirit
We turn from girls to women over night
I can dream of days when it wasn’t like this
When children played hopscotch on pavements
Small knees caked with mud
My cousin and I used to run
From the corn field to the vegetable patch
Oblivious that the world outside the iron gates
Would soon consume us
But that is but a cold dream now I awake to reality in the morning

Remembering I am part of a cycle only declining in age
I wish I could paint you a pretty picture
But in my capability I can only line up
Woman who would content with a cure
Afraid to face the shame so the virus spread quicker.
From the beginning of age to the eldest no scream is loud enough
No resistance is strong enough,
Questions pack my mind
Did I not carry myself as one that was not ready?
For I was just a child petrified and soaked in tears for the old lie
Purity cleanses all filth

TO BE CONTINUED

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