You stripped me of innocence as a little girl. As we played hide-and-seek, as you hid with me, seeking my withins, with your filthy hands. You hid me farther away when you were done with me. You walked away, your back on me, after you broke my soul.
As I lay there, looking up at the sky, wondering why? I bled… Weak, confused, and hurt, hurt, hurt. Your tiny thing was a sword through my life, and it tore me in two. Nobody found me, not until they started looking; even then, nobody ever found me.
You smiled at me on my 18th birthday. It still haunts me, that smile… Your dirty teeth. Your scarred face; wrinkled and tired. You said I was old enough now, that we could have another go.
I still wish you had died that day. It would be early Christmas! But no, you had to fall sick, be admitted… admitted! I still hate that they granted your last memories kindness. Unlike you to me, you to me… Your eyes smiled, your last. No remorse in them. No regrets.
I have a son today. I am old enough to break a nose that pokes too close. I have a husband, a house, car and a job. But every afternoon, devil-thing, I am here on a bench, gazing at the place…
The place I lay after you were done disgracing me; after you trashed “family”-what ever was it anyway?-for pleasure you could not even get… After you buried my life and walked over my grave; pissing on it, pissing on it, like a dog. Animal… Are you rotting in hell?
Benson Langat is a poet, fiction writer, and freelancer. A dreamer, he realizes a world of possibilities through stories and explores life in poetry. Benie is a dad and lives in Nairobi, Kenya.