It may have been the one rumbling on her stomach initiating its first movement and an undisputable possibility of its existence .Maybe that was the pain she felt when all of a sudden her stomach seemed to cringe; when the cramps became as vivid as the theory that followed it. Or was it that her psychology was playing tricks on her? Amrose remembered the series scenes of blood-flow she experienced the pain she felt from time to time again on her lower stomach abdomen. She remembered his cold eyes that branded her dumb and now as she lay supine on the bed, the bed that accommodated her in times of pain and comfort… but mostly in times of pain. She lay there in an attempt to relieve herself off the pain her belly cringed at every time she sat down. Now the universe decided to punish her by possibly making her bare a child from a man now she knew saw her as nothing but a hole with which pleasure lay at its best.


She looked at the ceiling hoping that she was not pregnant! swear not to have sex again and the bullshitty secondary virginity all of a sudden made more sense than have this kid who now she knew not if it existed or not.

It had been more than a month since she last had her walls knocked over, probably a month more since she spoke with him or saw him. Infact she hastened the breakup immediately she knew she had to nurse her wounds both on the insides and out-by herself. She finally got it; she was alone and immediately she cut off all immediate communications from the nigga. Her biggest worry was her recent vulnerable susceptibility of her insides walls having an emergence increase in abnormal cells and cancerous infections .

So now days after recovery ,she lay there, on top of her pink duvet, the curtains blowing from her right side window counting the days on the calendar which was immediately on her left side. One, two three…opps she just found out that she might be having another person inside of her. Three weeks passed the due date, she was sure the stick would give a rather clear and correct answer.

She stood up ,took the pregnancy kit that lay on the desk next to her and went to the bathroom silently hoping for a negative and thinking of the options that lay before her. But what were her options really? She could not bear a child whose father now she despises, she could not stomach the procedure and consequences of an abortion, she couldn’t either carry the kid to term and then give it away! Where was she going to live? Definitely not her parents place! She just had to…had to be negative. She opened the bathroom door and strode slowly towards her room. All done now. She waited for the verdict; will She have to be a killer? A single mother? A renegade? Or a victim of circumstance? Either way whatever options chose her, pinned a name tag she wasn’t comfortable with!

Torturous beings

I was born a woman





Shun me for my feminity

Is a curse

I lay on my generation



Of dying nights and rising mornings

Of the death of my being

For my whole is burnt down to a hole



Shun me for I decline

To be a woman

A toy left for the taking


Shun me for the life of me I cannot bear to be a woman

Not in the today’s world.

My cry as a slave of the society

Shun me for but a woman is enough struggle to bear





I tell stories of love

From my perspective

Stories of hate

Of anger and worry

Stories of betrayal


Stories of abuse

Of sickness

In death

And out and about


Stories of animals

The human being

Our exorbitant brain


Stories you couldn’t do without

Stories you never thought of

Stories with no end

For the world has no end.

Eternity as a perception


I tell stories of the world.