The last time I saw my period, my feelings were minding thier bussiness and my breast swayed without a flick of pain.
(A letter to every woman)
A woman’s relevance, rises above the pointing heads of misconceptions , belief’s, and traditions,
TALES OF A BLACK WOMAN..ISSUE 4
Dark areola’s, nausea and two red lines were enough evidence to throw the words “I’M PREGNANT ”
The sole mother solo and alone, looking at her child, the product of her submissiveness, closed in her innocence she reminiscences her last encounter of bonding in between the sheets,
“Come” he said, it was one of those invites I was supposed to dance at as my brain cells knew him as my uncle,
I wish I told you before our feelings became familiar friends that my sexuality bagged a problem,
That I couldn’t be the man deep into romantic interactions because my masculinity was kidnapped in the chattering footsteps of that “assault”.
The unexpected visitor visited my loins early;
I remember that day like it’s a scroll of importance holding a message of something sweet but then that day holds memories that barks around with huge golping sobs;
Remember I dropped a hint in my last post saying something new was coming to the blog? Here goes!
Mercy Harold is a 21 year old writer who strongly believes in the power of words.
Dear monthly visitor,
I expected a different knock at the doors of my womb, I looked out for nausea and dark areola’s,
Let’s just pretend it was a night out, but in reality, it was actually just a late evening. In my defence,