Written by: Admin_SheEvo
It’s the joke of the day! I could never date someone who already has a wife! I’d either be stupid or maybe possessed. But that was my notion before I met Mr. Pat.
He thee’d and thou’d me like no one before, treating my bumptious persona with calmness. And the next thing I knew, I was truly in love. But trust me? I promise I didn’t know a thing.
Love is the trait that has brought me this far. I fell on a rock and hoped it was a bed, thinking I was living, but in reality, I was dead. And now it’s all my fault because you just said so.
I’m nothing close to perfect, but I don’t deserve this. I’m simply human and flawed like everyone else. But what’s a tale that will save you no face? Intentions mean nothing in the face of our actions.
But what about his lies now? What about the dates and all the ‘I love you’s? What about the times when he said that her breath was a phantom? And that all I was doing was ovary-acting!
What about the times when I kissed him to calm him because jealousy struck him like pain from a cane stroke? Who holds him accountable now that I’m a victim? Who tells him I blame him for both women’s sorrows?
Because I still remember the look on her face, I still see her tears when I fall into my thoughts, and I think to myself that I must be a monster!
And I know. I know I’m a monster, but not always. Once in my heart, there was love with no harm. The first man who loved me was lord of a feast; his love was sweet but sometimes sour.
He hit me out of jealousy and said it was love. That was a lie, but it kept me alive. At one point, I didn’t think love bore any strife. So yes, I’m a sticker; I stuck there for love.
And I surely can’t blame her for still loving him because deep in my heart, I too love him still. But since I’ve been “othered”, they say I have no right to feel what I feel.
“Because mine is just lust,” they say, “because he liked me for lust.” Like he broke my heart, then defined what I feel, branding my feelings as Satan’s temptation, like all that we shared was simply evil.
But am I truly evil? Because I clearly recall how you came for my heart, promising futures you now can’t afford. Who was the liar who made me feel like a whore?
Who bares the sly tongue which got me convinced? A tongue with the power to break two women apart with embroidered confessions of a false love. Who is the one who has made me a mess?
While now he flees from my heart to the arms of another? I must be so evil? To learn I’m an option and still hope he’d choose me, to know she’d be hurting and still hope he’d choose me.
I sure must be evil! Because she says I broke her just by feeling love. She calls me Jezebel, a hussy, a demon. I surely am evil because I cannot move on.
A good name is surely the wealth we all need. Because as of today, he has made me a pauper, devoid of a face and a place in society, out of direction and lacking piety.
I have been cursed and left to the deity because only he has the sword that can strike me. But I fear not if he does choose to strike me because I feel that no being can withstand what I’m feeling.
Because I still sleep with tears on my pillow, memories and confusion still ruin my healing. This is because I still remember the hands that have touched me So raw with a tension, a sexual commotion
I still remember the lies that held me and bathed me in hopes that were bound to be broken. I still remember the plans that we plotted, only to find that they were legends of mythical structure.
Written by Luiza Masiga
Moshfizzo
This was worthy reading💯