“He gave me flowers”
He gave me flowers.
“You are so beautiful, like a flower,” he said.
“You are so lucky,” they said
The first time he said it was a mistake, a very foolish mistake.
I believed him, I forgave him and he gave me flowers.
That Sunday winter morning I lay in the hospital bed
With broken ribs, broken trust and broken promises.
“He treats you like a Queen, you should just learn to listen,
And not talk back, and stop with these short dresses you wear,
Look at these beautiful flowers by your bedside,
You are so lucky,” my mama said.
By a leather belt I’ve been whipped
And locked in the bedroom until my blood turned
Black on the white sheets,
My dress was too short and my lips too glossy,
I shouldn’t have waved back at that guy.
He gave me a bunch of roses.
I ran home, home to my mama, my body was tired,
My mind was tired, my tears had long dried.
Mama sent me back, how could I be so ungrateful, she said.
Today I lie here, in this cold coffin,
He is nowhere to be found, but I know,
Tonight, tonight when everyone is asleep
He will come to my grave and put flowers on it.
He won’t say a word.
He has nothing to say.
He will run off to Canada.
And find another dark-skinned girl,
Who kinda looks like me, and give her flowers.
“You look so much like my late wife, you know,” he will always say