I Am A Child, Not A Bride

I was told by my mirror that
I was flawed by nature
I saw my images through the
broken pieces of sorrows
my eyes are clouded not with specks but with natural rains of pain
my smiles are but beautified sorrows
the heaviness of my heart
weighed on the scale of this ink
who am I to say NO when
when it is the acceptable belief
that little creatures don't moan?
Oh! My loud screams are but sighs
my fear is my only courage
that is why I embrace the ink
but not the sword
please tell THEM
I am a child, not a bride

He says he is my uncle
once I sat on his laps
his hands venture into different routes
I lack the voice to say NO
because my shelter he bails off
my feeding he fends
please when you see my uncle
tell him
I am a child, not a bride

He calls himself an E-mam
yet his white long dashiki is darkened by my tears
his praying mat stained with my blood
every night my little valley he plunge
his stiff rifle as big as a hunter's boot
yet into my ored fountain he thrust
my pains are but illusory images
my screams but painful sighs
Oh Yea, it is true
the law is like the cobweb
only small insects are trapped
who will be my voice?
When the men on uniform are bribed off
who will be my voice when the man in black and white holding the mace is fended for
but please when you see the E-mam
tell him
I am a child, not a bride

He says he is a Bee-shop
his skull cap engraved with innocent tears
he mined my field by virtue of his Laud-sheep
I am never to voice this out
that I might not miss heaven
he preach about chastity
but his garment is stained
from the ripples of innocent
virgins
please when you see the Bee-shop
tell him
I am a child, not a bride

When shall my anatomy cease to be the only measure for my destiny?
Oh!
Lest my feeble weakness becomes strength
lest I venture into the dangerous safety of murder
Lest this awful pains become
a motivator for slaying
lest I leave my ink and word for a sword
tell Men
I am a child, not a bride