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Bidemi Tata

“It’s 5 am. Father is usually up at this time stroking his meat before the rooster crows- you know, that time in the morning where the sky is a ripe mixture of blue and moonlight. That’s when my father’s tone changes, 5 am. His curses are new in the morning, people snore horribly, my father is up at 5 am watching pornography. 

Sometimes, I model for my father. Sometimes in blood red just like the first time and other times in blue, yellow, purple, orange and yellow. My innocence was reduced to his liquor, he picked on me during holidays. We were a simple family. This writing is estranged. You must summarize the details of your pain otherwise it might seem like you’re delighted with it? 

He thrived on aggression but he liked to show remorse when he was done with me. Tears of shame and despicable disgrace lubricated my sore and tender asshole as he defiled me. I cried. The thing is when your father touches you like the way he touches himself when he touches himself looking at you, pain becomes a thing for mortals, not me. I am a woman of rainbows and divine color- my own Daddy likes to fuck me. “Ada!”, he cried sometimes as he staggered to my room when alcohol had overcome blood, and flesh had overcome faith, he’d look at me like I was light. I reminded him of my mother-  He’d say “Ada your fruit is much sweeter than I remember” but by the time he remembered, I had become unripe. My mother got sicker as the moon glimmered on Sundays, and when she used to hear me wail she’d let out a soft cry, only one I could hear. It was much too peaceful for the drunkard, soon my mother didn’t have enough energy to withstand – I’m sorry my story is all over the place.   
(Alcohol is a remedy for sickness, he drank my mother’s life away, he forgot that his precious Ada existed. He slept through the day and woke at night, and he woke with hunger and desire.) 

At this point, I became infatuated with death. Death spoke to me and replaced the little girl called pain. Death was a bad bitch and she was about the shit she pitched. I took his alcohol, masculinity, and shame. Death gave me control of my false reality, so as I jerked in pain while he had his way with me… I’d dream of tomorrow, free of pain and sperm. The sun finally shined and I didn’t need to not feel pain. I could cry and cry until I was content with my disposition as my father’s daughter. Death taught me to dream, things weren’t as they seemed and I was free.”

 

by David Oluwayinka

Tags : abuseBlogDiaryRapesubmissionWriter
Tomisin Akinwunmi

The author Tomisin Akinwunmi

Founder & Editor-In-Chief Interconnecting art, life & humanity to create a platform where greatness can be cultivated through expressing and exposing ideas.

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