Dear Derek,
I'm left with scars upon my broken hearts
Don't you take it awful hard cause I laugh like I've gat gold yet, am the dream and hope of those that calls me slave.
At every beat tradition is mired!
Why as an african should I be the girl who suffers mired tradition?
Why will I be your slave when am not for sale? Was it why he said ' A slave is not greater than the master', could it be me?
As a wife, I am expected to serve you, prepare your food, clothing and other personal needs.
As a worker, I have to be a professional, disciplined and an engaged employee yet, you aren't pleas with those tiredsome efforts.
I dripped blood
You gave me chromosal disorder,
I became subject of abuse Inside and out, Mama will always say , 'Quiet, the society will humiliate you as a Divorcee'
Dear Mama, will the society still remembers when the thick air be vanquished with the tide and the roaster beckons on the sun?
My intense positive emotions balanced out a higher risk of depression
We both exchanged vows to take an unending journey into an intimate union of equal partnership,
Treat me as a WIFE and not SLAVE!!!
Let's kiss off all worries
In silence I grieved and ate bitterness
Derek, can you remember flexibility roles in marriage?
We did said it worked.
Derek,
I am not a paid helpmate working for harsh folks or slavery
We did signed for personal and both professional obligation but if I'd never met real feelings for you,
Could you not sense our love through time and space?
Was our love a crux of our existence?
When we two parted,
A shudder came o'er me,
But, Let's bathe off our feelings
Nobody ,after all, dreams of having a broken family.
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