(Them, You)

The thing about being molested is

Nobody believes your side of the story.

Nobody believes that

Your fat comely Uncle with deep

Potbellied laughter resonating around the room

Brought you from the village

To continue your education in the city

Just so he could do such a thing.



You sound like an ingrate

Look at all he had done for you.

Look at his daughter

About your own age and

Could he do a thing that sordid when he has his own?

Look at his wife, she is beautiful

Her plump breasts and buttocks

Looks good enough to care for him


And because no visible scars or

Purple circle under your eyes

From Physical scuffle,

Or bruises between thighs

As proof

Your words go unheard.

But deep down you don’t know how

To say that every night your uncle slinks into your room

Tells you to wrap full lips he likes

Around his cock

Suck until he comes,

Else he’d discontinue your education,

Send you back.


He makes your stomach sick

But your mother’s words,

When she said: be obedient to your elders

Don’t do anything to piss or change goodwill.

So slowly,

With tears rolling down your face,

You swallow the vomit.