Lingering Childhood Occurrences

by Victoria Nkoro

My childhood memories rave 
At the person I am becoming

They rush back into my fitful head 
Like the wind caresses one’s skin,
They take advantage and rip my form off every ounce of happiness
And every moment I close my eyes, they come back
Not worthy of eluding my memory.

For I spend nights hoping they would go
Praying for forgiveness 
Yet, they bite back like tambolo 
And now my being has come to accept,
To accept the fact that it will never let me be.

The moment my sloven self
Grazed my mother’s arm, with tears pouring 
Out of my eyes, in hope for pity
In hope for a “sorry”

The days my tongue told lies my being could not fathom,
In hope for people to forgive my malicious acts,
The sharp sting my brain throws at my fatigued body
Has become one to urge my being to the edge of a cliff.

Every dying minute, I close my eyes and the irrefutable scene plays again
I ask for forgiveness, I praise my form, I reassure myself
But when this overwhelming feeling comes,
It eats every piece of me, it roams its silhouette around my form.

Most times, I can not help but shudder
With tears brimming from my eyes,
Streaking down my cheeks, 
Clouding my ears,
For when will the pain go away?
When will the thought of those little mistakes elude my brain?

I want to ferociously scream “let me be”
But my voice has failed me again;
The same voice that uttered silent lies
The voice that urged for “just a play”
The same voice that sinned
The same voice that is hopelessly asking for forgiveness from its maker.

The rush hour of the night comes to stay
And my eyes glare at my brown ceiling 
Good thoughts rush in
But in no time, my thoughts become an innuendo 
The good ones placed not too far away from the striking and irking thoughts.

To be free is to accept that there was once a fault in one’s life 
To be free is to come to terms with not fully living with happiness keeping you company 
To be free is to embrace those irking thoughts and decide to be better 
But to be in bondage
Is to actualize all that has been said without actually being free.

The nuance of who I was and who I am.
The thoughts I shuddered at and still actualized
Are now victims to my once conniving wits.

I pray for healing
To erase those abominations
To erase those lies
To erase those tears

I pray to my father; “Oh Lord, please forgive me. Help me.”

Victoria Nkoro is a Nigerian creative writer. She finds solace in writing more than anything because it enables her to see the world in a positive light. When she is not writing, she is either going about her language enthusiast journey, reading, painting or working as a beauty and fashion enthusiast.

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