I saw him. He stood there head tall like he had done nothing wrong. All I saw was a defect. A man, a weak and wicked man. And all I could think of was “look at me, please. See what I’ve become because of you”. Like you even cared, like I even mattered that way.
As they cuffed his hands, oh how I wished they were shackles. But for a moment I felt it, I felt a sense of freedom. Free from his grip. He held no power over me. My thoughts harked back to those unbearable 5 minutes where my body was violated. He broke me, to enjoy himself, he could even last longer than 5 minutes. Yet, that’s all it took, 5 minutes.
The day I learned of his death, I thought it would all be over. The torments, the dreams, the questions. I thought I’d no longer be tied to him. I wouldn’t be a victim anymore. I thought I’d be a survivor, however little did I know that my mind would be shattered forever. Broken I’d remain.
I can’t breathe. My eyes are red. Tears are running down my cheeks. My thoughts discourage me. I walked past the mirror and I didn’t like what I saw.I saw a girl that has a ugly body figure. No butt, no resemblance of beauty, flabby arms and a personality that I can’t describe. Then I thought maybe this why guys don’t like me. The reason they can’t even stay with me. I’m just not worth it. I’m just too much work. I’m too emotional. This is not how I should’ve felt. My confidence should’ve been off the roof but it wasn’t. I’ve let the stereotype of beauty and sexy cloud how I think of myself. So for 29 days I exhibit a front of confidence, self love, work on myself. But the 1 day left I will drown in my tears till my eyes hurt, degrade/demoralize myself to have motivation for the next 29 days not to be the same woman. I am not perfect. I acknowledge my fear, my doubts, my imperfections. I bottle things up. I hide my insecurities . If I have to wait 29 days to let go off my pain I will. But it’s not like anyone ever notices but I will live another Day surviving. -ileni Lyaanyuka 25 January 2018
Approach me with confidence. Let your words flow with distinct honesty. Rather speak with truth then openly hide it. I am your equal. All in or nothing at all. Let’s work on the communication. It’s never been easy but we got this far. This invasion was never foreseen.
Spoil me. Not materialistically but emotionally. The explosion of great intensity that release dopamine. Feed my mental state. Test the cognition we nourish.Dear future husband let’s lie in bed together. Whisper in my ear the notions of how we are meant to be. Let the oxytocin rush through my blood. Be my forever.Dear future husband I have this feeling and it will not easily be tossed aside, forgotten or misplaced. Know that I love you.
Being in the situation and thinking back can make one realize where they went wrong immensely . When I was in grade 8, I was forced to into a new world. Living in the hostel became a resource of knowledge of varies topics. Never felt exactly like I fit in, but does anyone fully really fit in. It was hard, watching my peers relate in ways I wish understood. That instant connection I longed for. In search for this I ended up hanging with the years above me.
Do note I was still lost.
Observing all these kids getting into relationships. I wondered about myself. What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t I in one? Then the questions began. Little did I know the questions I asked were wrong. All they did was initiate a lost person into forcefully becoming physically grown although it wasn’t time. As time passes. I still longed for knowing how it felt to be loved. Innocently but wrongly in thought it became that the lines between affection and sex blurred.
Dear Primary School me, where did you go? I miss you. Even though the entire experience wasn’t filled joy, awesomeness and adventure. The affects of the subconscious and verbal bullying took effect. I was a very secluded child. Comfort came from being at home. Taking joy in dancing in the living room, designing clothes for my dolls, having a day filled with snacks from the corner shop and the cartoons. Loved them, still do. Absolute favorite “Dragon Ball Z”. Goku represented all I wanted to be. Free. Myself with no judgement. A force to be reckoned with. All within a world of escapade.
Who was I? I was definitely not the center of attention. My silence became me. I lacked conviction and confidence, lost was I.
I remember the days when my body was just a mere physical form. Used to do the basic day to day activities. When I thought I was perfect. When I felt perfect. I didn’t need to look at the person next to me and find the contrast between us. I didn’t have to judge myself. Or put myself down. But now, I am forced to reconsider my worth, my beauty. I question the reason why I was made a certain way. Why couldn’t I have a body type like this or that. All these insecurities carved out from one main statement. What has this turned me into? My thoughts are not mine alone anymore. Yet my turmoil is but mine alone. I long for the days when I was recognized by personality and not the mass of my body or the amount of curves that define me. I long for a state of freedom that is appreciated by all sizes, beauty that is not run down but admired by all and souls that have lived.
Raised with my hands tied behind my back. Eyes pierce me from every direction. In a moment of freedom I am left to claw my way home. Robbed of my virtue. Left with nothing but pieces of glass. To cut a way forward or succumb to my affair. You pay no attention to my former, although I lay there naked. The marks of my past linger on every inch of my skin. You see only the desires of the flesh and not the cry for warmth.
It saddens me. In a world where I am undermined because of my gender. I am used because of my gender. Where I am beaten because of my gender. It saddens me that I have to work twice as hard than a man to establish my worth. In my silence I emerge the strength I have to carry on to survive this troubled community
Growing up the only world I knew was my own. I was the creator, knowing of only playing in the yard alone. Oh but I wasn’t really alone, the insects were part of my curiosity. Building tiny village houses for the ants one day, another collecting them for swimming races in the bathroom basin. Naming them and caring for them as though they were no different from you and I(humans).
There were days when I’d cut up my old clothes and become a fashion designer (I was a smart lad guys, still am. I knew how to cut and sewed to make interesting designs that made sense by grade one. I’ve always been a DIY woman), or cut up boxes and design a whole box house for my dolls.
Or the days when I rode my bike out in the yard, scrapping my knees when I fell just so that I’d patch myself up. Believing when I’d grow up I’d be a doctor just like my cousin. There was so much time to play till the night came and with it the joy of those NBC telanovelas came.
When I reminisce about my childhood, I do not remember the sadness of playing alone, or the pain felt when I fell off the bicycle or getting the belt because of misbehavior. Because that wasn’t my priority. My joy, self fulfillment and imagination was. The excitement of serotonin coursing through my veins warms me.
You can’t expect a flower to grow if you pluck it before it can bloom. Stop plucking the dreams of others by deafening the sound of their imagination. A persons ability to accomplish the extraordinary is as big as the opportunity they crave.
22 June 2017 I gave it up at 14, thinking I was ready yet again I felt ready. I gave it up to a complete stranger. Pablo, the name of the man that took it. He manipulated me into saying yes by using lust in the form of hands and tongue, words of pleasure. I never spoke to him ever again once the deed was done. In my mind I wrapped myself in thoughts. At 15, he made me feel like the world. We spoke a lot, day and night. We slept together (actual sleep, nothing adulterous). I shared my thoughts and my darkest secret that I wished no man to know. Just as he wanted to sleep he tried to slide into my panties I said ‘no’. I gave him my reason ” I do not want to” and for this he threw me out called me a liar. Like every single minute we had together meant nothing. I was just but a child. He wanted to use me and when he did not get his prize he tossed me away like trash. At the age of 16 I had many experiences from those that had a way with their tongue. In the warmth of their bodies, the sweetness in the way they spoke I felt wanted, needed, ‘loved’. I knew I was wrong in these thoughts. I ran far from these men and told myself to find myself. A realization of independence, of being a woman. Come the age 17 I had hope. I thought man could love me, want me as is, no judgement. There he stood. I thought this was it. I need not be anything else but myself. I didn’t believe in it so I left. I left him. Doubt and regret ate away my judgement and I ran back to him. His smile was the worst smile I’d ever seen but I loved it. He was a horrible singer but my hears liked it. I was comfortable and in that moment he drew away from me. He blamed me for being myself. He said I wasn’t enough. He said he didn’t like the way I looked physically. Come 18 I have cried my heart out, I have learned not to have expectations from people who take it to get what they want. Or so I thought I learned. New atmosphere, new faces and new claws that would scratch me. A man found me and kissed me. I liked him, too bad he had another, so I went my ways. In my class another followed with claws hidden behind kind gestures, gifts, invitations and food. He wanted me to be his side dish openly and I declined.
What am I suppose to think of myself now? I don’t like being alone but who does? Today’s world is not where I aspire to live in but it’s the hand I’ve been dealt. Excuse me if I don’t believe you and your actions. Excuse me if I don’t care. Excuse me if I rather just fuck than deal with lies, heartbreaks. I’m done. I’m tired. I am but a child. -Ileni Lyaanyuka
Today a woman’s body is objectified. If it doesn’t fit into the ‘hourglass figure’ or the ‘fat ass’ notion. If she is fat, has a small butt, small breast, broad shoulders or has curves that aren’t just the way we see them in stereotyped videos. She isn’t worth it. Who are we to decide and judge what body figure is worthy. Making fun of how someone is born is disgusting. If they are able to appreciate themselves and wear their skin as proudly as they should. Then there is no reason to demoralize or shame them. Does it make you feel good to hurt someone to a point where they feel they are required to get or seek acceptance, that they destroy their bodies by using silicon to fill their breasts or butt, that they starve themselves thinking being anorexic is the ‘IN’ thing, that Botox or make up will make them beautiful. Words can touch the depth of a person’s insecurities and suicide can be considered as a solution after depression has struck. A woman’s figure should not be the object of our love instead her personality should be. Her personality makes her worthy and beautiful and much more. -ileni Lyaanyuka 2 December 2017
She walks slowly past the study desk, to the bed to take a seat on . Her insides feel troubled but comfortable. The skirt slowly shifts up as she opens her legs. Panties dripping wet, she sets them aside with one finger and uses another to arouse herself even more. “I want every inch of you.” she says seductively. He walks up to her and gently kisses her forehead. His fingers trail down her neck. He pushes her back and gets on top of her, kissing her lips……When his shaft enters her, in the strokes she is free from hurt and pleasure ignites her flames even more. She grabs the sheets, her moan quickens with short breaths. He moves her leg over his shoulder. Each stroke articulated in his back. She’d had enough of his fast pace. She got on top of him. Gently kissed his lips and made a trail with her tongue to his shaft. She slowly licked it to the head. She let her teeth gently rub against the head as she began to suck slowly. Her hand moved in the same on his shaft, increasing the speed.