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PROSTITUTE AND HERO

I was molested and raped by an older cousin aged thirteen,
The end product of the mess did not only leave these scars, agony and regrets behind,
But a set of twin whose father is still nowhere to be found.

My mother died a month earlier
and I had to move in with my aunt,
Since I never knew my father.
Mother said he denied the pregnancy and dived into the sky,
Gone into oblivion.

My aunt and husband never blamed their son
for assailing upon a helpless naive teen,
instead they blamed me for being a cheap slut and witch
who made their precious son flee,
So I was beaten and driven into the streets with pregnancy,
Where an abandoned van became my only shelter.

Always dressed in rags like the mad girl people mistook me for
I begged for alms where I raised money for my 'pure water business'.
Before I ventured into the labor room alone in the van my home
I knew no difference between intestine and the umbilical cord
Perplexed in ignorance, I knew not what to cut, discard or leave
Until some women came to my rescue
And I gave birth to my world,
a boy and a girl, and I said to them
"Little cuties, you'll never go through all Moma have."

I vowed to stay from the male folks my whole life until Adam,
Who seemed to pack the pieces of rags left of me
And knitted it into a fine material.
He understood and sympathized,
I was helpless when cubit who never miss aimed,
I was struck and I found love
Or so I thought, cause all the sugar coated on his tongue was deception,
The real piece of cake was made of lies and dubiousness,
With only an intent to plant his carrot in my garden of Eden, he came,
And when it's all said and done,
I was brokenhearted again.

Left into the hands of fate
With two kids left to tend alone,
My kingdom was long taken,
The world no longer belonged to me
As my sun had already set
And my silver linen blur in the foggy horizon,
But I have two sprouting seeds I have to water and watch grow,
I must ruin me to mould them.

So there came Mathew, Mark, Luke and John
Not to bless the bed that I lie in
As they all left in precision,
With babies to feed and school and nurture,
The street kept calling, and my pussy kept admitting fugitives for shelter...

And because nature blessed me with a glittering ebony skin,
With all its perfect arcs and bends without cracks nor portholes,
I became good food to the canal man
Not eaten with forks and knives,
And though neighbors pile the misery,
They count the numbers of men that come and leave,
When people point fingers, they forget to look back at your humble beginning.

Yet I hit the ground hard every morning
Letting my footprint leave a dent on yesterday,
Never letting the world weigh me down,
Because although before you I am a ho,
I will remain a hero before my kids.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 

Comments

in this one the poem is attempting too much. Need to focus on which style to carry the poem. The beginning is very prosaic, reads as a telling simple tale (other than dived in the sky) goes off in a few directions- biblical references, about being a prostitute.
Sometimes illustration helps explain a lot A poem by Francois Villon, French writing around 1450. I think it might be a way of directing you, a 21st Century Nigerian...

The Ballad of Villon and Fat Madge
By François Villon
Translated by Algernon Charles Swinburne

‘’Tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.’ -Falstaff
‘The night cometh, when no man can work.’

What though the beauty I love and serve be cheap,
Ought you to take me for a beast or fool?
All things a man could wish are in her keep;
For her I turn swashbuckler in love’s school.
When folk drop in, I take my pot and stool
And fall to drinking with no more ado.
I fetch them bread, fruit, cheese, and water, too;
I say all’s right so long as I’m well paid;
‘Look in again when your flesh troubles you,
Inside this brothel where we drive our trade.’

But soon the devil’s among us flesh and fell,
When penniless to bed comes Madge my whore;
I loathe the very sight of her like hell.
I snatch gown, girdle, surcoat, all she wore,
And tell her, these shall stand against her score.
She grips her hips with both hands, cursing God,
Swearing by Jesus’ body, bones, and blood,
That they shall not. Then I, no whit dismayed,
Cross her cracked nose with some stray shiver of wood
Inside this brothel where we drive our trade.

When all’s made up she drops me a windy word,
Bloat like a beetle puffed and poisonous:
Grins, thumps my pate, and calls me dickey-bird,
And cuffs me with a fist that’s ponderous.
We sleep like logs, being drunken both of us;
Then when we wake her womb begins to stir;
To save her seed she gets me under her
Wheezing and whining, flat as planks are laid:
And thus she spoils me for a whoremonger
Inside this brothel where we drive our trade.

Blow, hail or freeze, I’ve bread here baked rent free!
Whoring’s my trade, and my whore pleases me;
Bad cat, bad rat; we’re just the same if weighed.
We that love filth, filth follows us, you see;
Honour flies from us, as from her we flee
Inside this brothel where we drive our trade.

I bequeath likewise to fat Madge
This little song to learn and study;
By god’s head she’s a sweet fat fadge,
Devout and soft of flesh and ruddy;
I love her with my soul and body,
So doth she me, sweet dainty thing.
If you fall in with such a lady,
Read it, and give it her to sing.

>>

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

I'll rectify the necessary.

Hommies

author comment

hi may i quote the last stanza on Instagram?
it is a touching and raw poetry
and the image of the last stanza is very strong

IRiz

Yes you can

Hommies

author comment

I agree with Eumolpus In this poem what strikes me is I know you have a lot pent up which I believe is what drives you
Ill let others talk to you about poetic devices restraint for clarities sake and refinements; all good advice

But what is not lost on me remains the rawness and pain in your life The split between how you see your self and how you want your children to see you The struggle between the profane and the sacred

Some of the best poetry is resonate because the writer needs the out let
and this case you do and because of it your write is poignant and strangely powerful

On a personal level I want to tell you to admit who you are without shame You are human and have the inalienable right to be who you are and take what you need to live and be happy as much as possible in this difficult world

Best Z

You just lifted my spirit. Thanks for rreminding of the necessities of poetic devices

Hommies

author comment

That makes me really happy !
None of us can control what other people do, There should never be shame for being a victim and never for our desires We are what we are and if anybody doesnt like it Fuckum

We're kindreds

Hommies

author comment
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