To the girl who has been used countless times,
She is now scrap value,
The one who’s been hurt so often,
She barely feels anything now,
She who has lost all hope,
And lost count of the number of times she has tried to erase them,
From her skin and her thoughts.
Laughter is but a thought of the past,
No friends can she claim,
But parasites seem unafraid to claim her,
They love to watch her shame,
Her state of despair.
Who knew rock-bottom had a basement?
The men who have come and gone,
Each one came to withdraw,
None had the decency to deposit anything.
Now her currency is depreciated.
Now death is all that remains,
It doesn’t seem so bad.
If only to soothe her aching soul.
By Nawekulo Wanjugu
