Fractured

The funniest thing to me would always be how people look back with nostalgia over their childhood and how much simpler it was because mine was everything but, maybe every Lagos born Yoruba girl would understand but they probably won’t (not much would…,. I know every choice made by me and for me has led me here sitting on the floor in a drunken haze with a pair of scissors in my trembling hands, tears filling up my eyes unwilling to fall, half losing my mind while giving myself and impromptu haircut I would most definitely regret in the morning. Looking back, I realise I was never given the opportunity to be naïve yet I still am, I am a contradiction, why? I do not know. I scream as loud as I can no one hears me, how could they? I’m trapped in the solitude I created for myself in this big apartment the perfect metaphor for my childhood. I guess my mum succeeded into moulding me in her image. My mum how I hate to miss her and how I hate her and myself for allowing it, my father how I hate him too and how I hate my constant need for his approval and the constant fear that he would abandon me just like my mother did, if I fall anything short of perfection, just like he abandoned the woman that birthed me after my conception and now I fit perfectly in her shoes, maybe not perfectly at least she thought she had love. I have nothing but a positive test and man who has deceived himself into loving me who is willing to risk his life for me someone unable to accept it, a girl who I betrayed with my selfishness and lies, whose hurt stricken face would forever haunt me. Now I can’t help but wonder which is worse “loving someone who can’t love you back or being loved by someone you can’t seem to love?” “f**k!!!” I scream once more. I have to get rid of this parasite growing in me, I can’t keep it and I most certainly cannot be a mother or maybe I can, maybe I can be the mum mine never was, I begin to hope and fantasise as I feel some sort of liquid rolling down from my inner thighs to the floor, slowly then all at once as I scream and cry over this thing that I didn’t even want, I yell once more broken and beaten, beaten and broken, guilt sinks in as I sink to the floor that I did this once more I ruined everything.