We are having a discussion,
A group of six
Each telling about their childhood,
The boy in the blue cashmere stares at me,
They wait for me to speak,
Its my turn,
So i tell them that i grew up in eastlands
At some point in Jericho
At some poing in Umoja.
I tell them about the time i went to school in Kayole,
About my congolese deskmate who had smelly feet and even grotesque breathe.
They look at me and laugh,
Some with disbelieve that once i went to school with with completely torn shoes because they couldnt allow me to go barefoot.
I tell them about the girl in my class who was born in a cave because her parents were fleeing the genocide.
I try not to speak about myself,
They do not notice,
Because my tongue is willing to open the safe in my mind where i keep my collection of stories,
Where i keep stole memories.
But there are things i do not say,
Not to thw boy with an awkward laugh and hands that never stop doing what hands do,
Not to the girl who chews gum lika a mule chews on grass,
Not to anyone
Because no one has ever seen that side of me.
I washed it away,
I scrabbed it iff my flesh with salted water,
I cleansed it with prayer,
I bleached it with tears.
There are things i do not say
Like how my mother never sent me out past dark because there was always a 16year old boy playing with a hand gun at the corner shop.
There are things i do not say,
Like how a man was killed because of two hundred shillings and a pair of shoes,
I do not say i am scared of darkness
Because once
On a short cut home,
A man stripped me off my clothes and entered me,
As if an ambush,
Since i have never been a fan of back and forth,
And every time a lover tries to make love to me,
I rage war,
As if making up for a rapist with bad colone.
They day i told mt mother,
She wept as if mourning the death of my dignity,
Reaching out for a knife to end this nightmare.
I do not tell how boys looked at me funny,
Of how the ghetto taught me to keep my weapons within my reach,
Of how the ghetto fathered me because my father was too weak a man to face raising me.
I tell them about my math teacher,
She had sleeping sickness
Everytime she fell asleep we’d fly paper planes and fat.
I do not tell them that there are nights i count to 100,
Hopinh that at 99,
I will see the man who destroyed me destroy himself,
He will dig through his chest with his bare hands,
Reach in for his heart and chew it up.
I do not tell them that i major in print because i want to write about the girls who got pregnant in the ghetto,
About the 12 year old boy with stained limbs and pockets full of drugs he needs to sell,
About the girl who got raped ,
Because she is a girl ,
Because some men are like animals,
Sniffing for growing breasts and vaginas that spill of honey anf milk.

15 thoughts to “Things I do not say 

  • Anonymous

    This is some ugly truth….powerful…I love it.

    • Cleona Mwangi

      Thank you 😩 I really appreciate ❤ 😊

    • miano Lynnette

      perfecto…..loved it

      • Cleona Mwangi

        Thank you girl

  • sarafineArt

    Allow me to just say how much i enjoyed reading this… I love your choice of words, your diction is on point
    And the way you made your comparisons paints a clear picture in the Reader’s mind and i could picture that girl chewing gum like a mule 😂😂 totally relatable.
    I also like how you started off your piece by introdcing a myriad of characters, this way we get to see the major differences in society which many at times we tend to overlook or pretend do not exist.
    Also having the persona in first person was a wise move as it makes your story come out as an anecdote which captures the readers attention and makes it more interesting.
    Needless to say the thematic concerns addressed in the poem have been issues that have plaqued our society for a long time. It was high time somebody really spoke up and condemned acts of violence and rape, social stratification etc… A few typos here and there but nothing editing can’t sort out….

    • Cleona Mwangi

      Thank you . Yeah I have always been afraid of the typos

      • sarafineArt

        I also felt some silent rage in the persona where she says that she wishes for her rapist to die… And the amount of bitterness locked away witjin is just too much….so sad and heart wrenching😢😢 no one should have to suffer this way

        • Cleona Mwangi

          You see that is something most rape victims have to go through , the bitter period that never seems to end where even the sun seems grey . The worst part is that society always points back at the victim with the claim that they wanted it to happened but you see people are often so afraid to actually speak out and say that such evils exist in the world and that is sad

  • sarafineArt

    Good job wangeci 👏👏👏

    • Cleona Mwangi

      Thank you

  • Anonymous

    I love the way you have put out the issues in words so boldly without beating about. Keep up addressing these issues bit by bit I believe one day they will eventually be rid of from the society.

    • Cleona Mwangi

      My prayer is that this issues are addressed and handled . It is so scary to know that everyday someone goes through one of this things

  • Amaze

    Damn I Pictured this whole Poem into a Movie where you are the Starring. It’s so touching

    • Cleona Mwangi

      Thank you

  • ivy

    some things are better left unsaid….
    #loving this


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