Pieces of My Life

Believe me when I say that I have no idea what I'm on about. I was going to play with poetry but a story followed, so I decided to combine the both of them. I hope it finds you well.

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I have failed myself
I have failed my family
I have failed my loved ones
I have failed life
I have nothing left to live for

I was awakened by the banging on the door. It was actually the second time. The first, I had ignored. I opened one eye and shut it again. What now? My hand collided with a pillow as I stretched. The banging continued. I muttered some incomprehensible words under my breath and convered my face with my right arm.

“Open the damn door or I'll break it down.”

I frowned. Then it hit me. I was home. Knowing my sister, she would make do on the threath. I stood on wobbly legs and staggered to the door. I was going to open it a crack and assure her that I was fine, but the tears in her eyes gave me a pause. She pushed the door open.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping.”

“I've been knocking for so long. I thought something happened. I thought you hurt yourself... again,” her voice broke.

”No.”

“Are you really okay?”

“Yes.”

“You're not. You're still talking in monosyllable. Promise me. Promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

I nodded. Once. Twice. I held her while she sobbed. She needed to, I knew. My own tears dried up a long time ago.

The first thing I see
Is a face peering down at me.
One face, two faces, maybe three.
They first look before they smile,
Before they tickle me.
I think they like my laughter.
I’m not sure but their faces change
Whenever I refuse to laugh,
Before they scoop me up,
Patting my freshly powdered behind.
It doesn’t matter that I just emptied my bladder.

My life began the day I fell from a tree. For most people, theirs begin the moment they were born. I had lain on the ground where I dropped, neither unconscious nor alert. I could hear screams and I could see people gathering around me. I saw myself being lifted up, saw my glasses fell and shattered, but I was oblivious. The only thing I recognised was a numb feeling on my right shoulder. I wanted to touch it.

“Stop picking the cast.”

I looked up and my mother stood there. She had this glint in her eyes. I recognised it. I knew exactly when she was faking anger. I pouted. She chuckled.

There were times the light in her eyes seemed so dim. On those days, she would pull my cheeks and pat my head. She would make me laugh while trying to mask her pain. Her eyes betrayed her, always. All I had to do was touch her face and the tears would slip. She never hid it from me.

The second thing I see
Is my uneven limbs,
Struggling to stand and take a step.
The faces are around me,
Clapping and cheering.
I giggle before I plowed back down
On the hard floor,
My legs tingling,
My arms sweaty.
They hoot and call me a champ.
I ignore them and frown at my bruised toe.

I was staring at my paintings. The colours kept beckoning. I could see them vividly but I couldn't reach them. My cast was gone. The doctor said it would take some time. The happy faces and endless chatter when it was removed wouldn't stop replaying in my mind. I was relieved it was finally over. Four months was a long time. I wanted to play with my colours.

I was starting at my right hand. The fingers kept failing to hold the pencil. Another two months had passed. I could fairly write with it now, but what I really wanted was to draw, to paint. I had stopped looking at my previous ones. I once hid the brushes and canvases under the bed but my sister found them. I already stopped crying. It made everyone sad.

I couldn't seem to forget the taunts of my classmates. I never minded that they called me four eyes. I would just paint and forget all about them. Now, I couldn't. They started calling my handwriting bad as well.

The third thing I see
Is blood on my dress.
I knew it would come,
Mother told me about it.
She also told me what will happen
If a boy touches me.
I want to play like I used to.
To run around naked and under the rain.
But my chest is getting big
And boys are staring at me.
I have to cover myself more.

That night, I was restless. I became the only left-handed girl in the neighborhood four years ago. Everyone moved on eventually but the proceeding events were still fresh in my memory. My paintings had become history. My mother had to change school for me. I became very quiet. The doctor said I would be okay. Those doctors, they knew nothing.

You see, I was this child who lived in her head. I would overthink everything. The only moment of escape was when I drew. Even that was taken from me. I wouldn't tell you about it but I had nothing left. I hid it well.

I was telling you about a night. My unsettled stomach dragged me out of bed. I headed to the kitchen to find some water. That was when I felt something crawling down my legs. I thought it was an ant at first. One look and I sighed. It was finally here. I changed my already stained gown and got lemon water instead. When my mother saw the dress in the morning, I shrugged.

The fourth thing I see
Is a child on my arms.
Happy faces making merry,
Old men cracking unfunny jokes.
Like a déjà vu it comes back,
The cheers when I took my first step,
The screams when I said my first word.
I look down at the little one
With a face so serene
And wonder if I’ll find peace.
I already glimpsed what it’s like.

I first saw him at my sister's graduation. He was a brother to one of the graduands. I couldn't look away, neither could he. There was no formalities. We both knew. I liked to think we did, later when things began to change. It gave me a sense of peace. I talked and he listened. He talked, I paid no attention, but he still did. It was easy. Too easy.

The wedding happened shortly. My mother was worried. She had never been able to figure me out . She believed it was too soon and she wanted me to be happy. My sister hugged me more. I could see the uncertainty written all over her face. They were resigned, both of them. I had always known what I wanted after all.

The baby came immediately. I reminded myself that I chose this life. I never did what I didn't want. I also reminded myself that I loved him. I wouldn't be here if I didn't.

The fifth thing I see
Is blood on my hands.
Not from my sign of womanhood,
Nor from my broken Innocence.
I have gone against everything I was thought.
A woman’s body belongs to her husband, they say.
It doesn’t matter if there’re bruises and pain,
Or if I’m being taken against my will.
I made my body mine
And I ended a life.
There’s nothing left for me.

Things changed more. The alcohol, the late nights. I wasn't surprised when the beatings followed. For the first time in years, I missed my paintings. I cursed the day I fell. I would watch makeup tutorials to learn how to hide my black eye. Sometimes I laughed at myself. I had become one of those women. I had become one of the things I despised the most, yet I couldn't leave.

I never made it about myself. I had a little one, so how could I? A child needs both parents. I totally forgot that the home needed to be functional for that to happen. This child was the only happy thing in my life, so I concentrated and gave motherhood my all. Still, it wasn't enough.

I knew it was over the day he raised his hand on my child. I started seeing the child as just mine shortly before it everything crippled. I couldn't remember how it all happened exactly. I held the knife tightly. I stood over his unmoving body, soaked in his blood. When his body was taken away and I was made to sign some papers by the police, I felt nothing. I only held my child tightly.

I have failed life
I have failed mother nature
I have failed love
I have failed the creator
I have nowhere to go

“You need to forgive yourself. What happened wasn't your fault.”

“I will.”

The air was different as I breathed. I had wanted to end it, but the thought of leaving my child behind wouldn't let me. I needed to be here, even if it wasn't for myself. Healing would happen in due time. I had something to live for.

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