LIFE OF OREOFE (ISLAY)

I lay on this cold bed, this lonely night wishing you were next to me. I picked up my phone to call you (the phone you got me), you picked up and I could hear her voice in the background, you excused yourself saying darling this is work I have to take it. You called me baby as i cried and told you how badly I wanted to feel the warmth of your body next to mine. I am the one you say you love, the business meetings that keep you away from little Benjamin and Grace, the one who sleeps alone in an empty bed, the outside side chick who hugs a pillow while your light skinned wife spreads her legs to heaven as you grunt and sweat down the passage of what you call a loosen valve.

Most people I have had connection  with within this few weeks have hinted at a particular issue that I have decided to write about. SEXUAL ABUSE. My name is Alero and I have been a victim of multiple sexual abuse. I was molested repeatedly by my uncle shola when I was just 9. He had just finished NYSC and he decided to spend the rest of his holiday at my house. my mother was his aunt and she saw nothing wrong with uncle Shola staying for a few months, he will after all help with some heavy duty chores like washing the cars and dads laundry.            Uncle shola was 23 years old at this time, he was tall and fair I must admit at that age I liked uncle Shola until

I told you i loved you at 23:38, i waited hoping you would tell me i love you too. i waited and waited, what were you waiting for? i could see it, beside you profile picture typed in black, it said online.

Do you feel my presence? Can you hear my voice?  i am your soul that bellowed help! please! no!. I tried to warn them! they didn't listen. look how they ended, am trying to warn you but then again like the clay that you are, you wouldn't listen. Am not bothered! no, am not troubled, i am the silent watcher,

When i told you i wont wait forever, i meant it, i have found comfort in the arm of many, i stare into your eyes as they carried me on lifted hands to their alter of worship. You pushed me away, left me begging for little scrapes that fell off the stone that is your heart. Odion pleaded and Athena wept, not for my broken spirit but for the way i loved you. The way i loved you,

Hi, so my hands found itself writing a yoruba language love poetry. Enjoy. Ade ori mi Oko mi, Ife ori Okan aya mi Oro o le ropo Ife otito ijinle to mo ni si È Ife mi Óla mi, òla mi                               Oko orekelawa,