By Anem Justina Mossang
The eyes, she knows,
She’ll always remember;
A part of him,
That still makes her tremble.
Cold as ice,
Not a hint of warmth,
A quiet place,
Where she would come undone.
Stripped of her innocence,
Damaged mentally beyond repair,
A scared little girl,
She thinks, with a story she can’t share.
Not exactly destroyed,
Yet not exactly okay,
Somewhere in a limbo,
She’s stuck. To the exit, leads no way.
She is now one of the girls,
About whom, they would speak on the news,
Though not damaged to their degree,
She still feels dirty, still feels used.
Her eyes bleed,
They don’t cry,
For she believes, tears are too pure,
To fall from her sinful body, her sinful eyes.
They bleed of pain,
Of her pain untold,
A pain she swears,
To never let unfold.
So, she keeps it to herself,
To protect her honor and her sanity,
A happy go lucky child on the surface,
No one thought they would ever have to pity.
For they would never see her,
Not her true self at least,
For why should she explain herself to the people who never saw,
Her discomfort, when she sat next to her beast.
They ate away at her,
Her fake smiles and her secrets,
Painfully slowly eliminating,
The girl who was now breaking in fragments.
She saw him a lot,
Till he moved far away,
But his image never left,
A scar she carries to this day.
His ice-cold eyes,
With no emotions,
But in a way, she wonders,
If he was a victim too, once.
Word travels fast,
Through the grapevines in a society,
So, she heard things too,
Words which made her not want to leave.
No blade to her wrists,
Not anymore,
She’s better than the beast,
Better than the people who scared her into silence with horror stories before.
No more locked in her room,
There, again, no red will ever stream,
No longer will she let out blood like tears,
While her veins gleam green.
With her now at peace,
For her, it is her happy ending,
After the storm,
For her, a form of closure, her forgiveness brings.