Fertile Wound- A sample

bleh

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Skirt

ARTWORK

Sex

I couldn’t even really say the word sex out loud until I was 14. Even then it was whispered, or mimed or camouflaged as “banging” or “IT”. Growing up in a semi-conservative African family, sex was one of those things that no one really wanted to acknowledge or talk about.

2017

  I have managed to get my thoughts together, after surviving the agonizing anxiety of the first 2 days of the year. “What are your plans this year? Any resolutions? What do you think needs to change?” Even if (by some supernatural force of nature) I had all these answers

enough.

 When will you understandThat you will never be beautiful enough  You will never be intelligent enough You will never be adventurous enough You will never  Be Enough  for the man who does not love you  Stop trying to feed someone who starves you You are grinding away your heart,

fading.

At 16. Heartbreak sounded like a thousand buildings crashing down, a tornado, a countless number of sleepless nights and twisted sheets. An unfamiliar pain and tears coming from places you didn’t know could cry  At 20. Heartbreak sounded like a car crash, ambulance sirens, a crime scene filled with broken

adjustment.

My heart is a construction site.  It echoes like a drill in my chest  Slowly coming apart  I sigh deeply  Pushing back the tears that have been welling in my eyes for weeks I pace my room  Gathering courage to leave it.  Everything in here And everything out there  Makes

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