His eyes are like those of his mother’s

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I became a mother to a child born in bondage. One whom I knew was meant to have a better life with someone else but I could not.

I was selfish

I died the day I gave birth. After seeing him in a box surrounded by upfront knives pointing right at him. He laughs with light in his eyes, making the world look more appealing in comparison to the pig sitting before with bulging fat look like tsunamis ready to be created, with a snoring snarl at the child that us meant to be like his.

No. His servant. Now.

Caught up in drugs, needles piercing, vein breaking, purple prints, it is all burning.

It caught up to me. What now?

Death.

He takes his son, “boy if I tell you to jump you’ll ask how high.” But… Punch one. “Why are you doing this?” “What have I done to you?” Punch two.

Skin torn. Mother still laying on the ground. Not moving but he won’t do anything.

You came from her. Disdain. fury. Utter dishonour.

She stayed there for three days. I had to stay within his sight ALL THE TIME. That is… that was my mom.

He’s found someone new but she doesn’t like me either. I miss her- my mom. I do.

I’ll turn, get her out. These scars are the overpowering evidence to her life. I know she wanted more for me- why else would she have kept the shoe box. Drugs still around it. Gun still on the table. Money still stained with her blood.

I’m too small to carry her. Shot one- He’s dead. Shot two- She screams. She dies. Mommy wake up we’re free. It’s over. You can wake up now.

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