There is a day I should not forget.
A prophet's lust and my own dread
The day the kid inside me died.
The day I was claimed a child bride.
They dressed me in a white cocoon.
They made me walk the plank to soon.
The organ shook the clapboard floor.
I had to die inside, to feel no more.
My heart was gone, but he had my lips.
"They taste like rubber," he said with spit.
He whispered in my ear, and promised it
"I will have you like candy, just wait you twit."
Everyone smiled with fisted praise.
They hugged each other, eyes all glazed.
My mother and father sat idly by.
They watched the child inside me die.
My sisters all watched wearing bonnets and braids.
They looked despondent and noticeably grave.
Perhaps they saw their future on display?
A prophet who marries in order to rape?
We left in his carriage as all the clan waved.
Behind them was the sunset over a hill in a haze.
Across the river the horses trotted along.
But freedom inside me cried like a song.
With one last reflection from his evil eye,
I broke from the door into a swirling tide.
He screamed and cursed, but what else could he do?
Before he knew it, I skirted from view.
Indeed, it was a day I should not forget.
From deep inside, the woman in me found true grit.
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