CONFESSIONS UNTOLD (REVISED)

I remember the cold nights,

when the wind howled louder than my voice, curled tiny in corners, fleeing a hero-predator 
turned rogue. The one who praised
my silence for being my best act as he pressed
his manhood against my innocence, leaving bruises I hid but wore like battle scars.

I remember the sharp blades and blunt
needles on those blurred days,

passed out wasted from an exhausting pain,
lost in alleys where my haunted mind lurked,
numbing emotions, clawing to forget, sinking
deeper into an endless pit, ghosts
of his touch grinding against my spine

Like the jagging of a million dust pieces of glass!

I remember when he cast me out, branding me- not like the other “normal” ones; when he 
squeezed my hand in public to watch me flinch,
when they lit fires meant to hollow me
from the inside, demanding quiet tears,
denying rights, denying me the chance to be woman,
and whole of life.

I remember the cuffs of pain and anger,
binding my will to death’s doorway, rage
coiling in my throat on days
I could barely breathe, yet whispered I’m fine.
and When they laid me to rest, I wailed 
not in surrender ,

but from an aching
for silence they could nolonger dictate,

And a story they held no plot to.

But HEAR me now!
Sad as is,

that all I do is reminisce, listening
to their false regrets, their sorry fate speeches- claiming it could have been different if I spoke, if I listened and submitted,
though they stitched forced silence into my tongue,
watched me drown in anguish,
until death felt like mercy and release.

Somehow,

my story lives in every woman’s throat,
no longer soft,

no longer still.
My final plea is not for peace
but for a reckoning,
for the echo of our rage
to shake the world awake!

~ Ndiba Kellen~

💜💜💜