My story is not a nice one to narrate
You won’t even dance to the song of my life at a party
because of the sadness it carries
I got raped at the age of eleven
Not once, not twice,
As a matter of fact, countless times

Tried telling my parents what my uncle was doing
And I was called crazy, an attention seeker
My cry for help was in vain
A part of me still resents my parents
They failed me, why didn’t they believe me?
Was my uncle that much of an important figure?
So much that I didn’t deserve their protection?
Backstreet abortions I did multiple times.

Today I am a grown up woman
A wife to my husband, a mother to none
But those babies I never got to breastfeed
The ones I was denied a chance to name
Christable, Jacqueline or Phillip
Today because of my past, my womb can’t carry a baby
I have had three miscarriages in less than two years
I have been called an appendage,
Apparently that’s how useless I am to my husband, cause I can’t bear him children
I have been told that I don’t deserve to live
Because I am failing to deliver that which I was born for
Which are babies …

My worth has been reduced to babies
Nothing I do is ever good enough for him
He no longer touches my food
He does not sleep at home anymore
I don’t remember the last time we spent time together
I have even forgotten the sound of his laughter

Growing up my life was filled with so much sadness, a void
Something I did not anticipate to experience even as an adult
Maybe this is my fate
Maybe this is how my life ought to be
You see now, my story is not a good one to narrate
And the song of my life you wouldn’t want to listen to.