when rape is visited, a girlchild
comes to mind as if we exist not;
remember, we also get raped.
when Afghanistan assault is mentioned,
the name of a Girlchild glue to their lips like they forgot those boys at battlefield made to forget their father’s name.
are we not assaulted too?
when Iran violence is named here,
the skimpy thought of a girlchild echoed.
They engage us with egotic cascading rumours about our conversative lives,
about our brevity not weaknesses,
Picking up those fragments of our lost self. naked. visual impaired cognitive.
we learned to draw guns from fugitive
legs in figurines of steam steak sleeves.
we splitted fire into tongues and eyes,
we splitted smoke and chill doubt in the mouth of lust from the home we lose.
have you seen those kid boys in the war front?
those who are meant to remain at home with nipples inserted into their weak souls.
have you visited the prison yard lately?
boychild commit the max of the crimes,
ladies are weaker vessels & must be protected from disclosed patterned evil.
for this humble fire
Let’s cascade this two worlds
this series of unfortunate cities
this divisions & separate ideologies…
this races &faminism of the heart
this light of men above women.
we have our differences between,
some of us learned to run faster
and the other, slower but life itself
is a baby that knows not what he created.
i heard that boys now pray more than girls…
i heard that boys are more assaulted than girls…
this mortal poems. The earth. The heavens. the hell. the underground.
are verses made for girlchild & for the folding of fire by the boy child.
©John Chizoba Vincent