His fists shake as you empty the contents of your mind on the floor
In the space between both of you
His fists shake in the slight way they do
Just before they leave your skin purple
Or if you are lucky, just red
“It felt like rape.”
Is the statement that makes him hold you off the floor by your neck
You do not take the statement back
Nor do you apologise
Even when consciousness starts to evade you
Even when you are sure he is painting the glossy white wall
Behind you a dark, creamy crimson;
His fists making that sickening sound as they kiss your flesh again and again
Because that is how it felt
It felt like rape because you had cried while he rammed into you
It felt like rape because though he was your husband,
You had begged him to stop
The congregation often tells him his hands are holy
That he is blessed by god
But those holy hands always leave you marred by bruises
And sins too dense, too murky for you to carry alone
Maybe you are a martyr
A human so filled with love,
They carry another’s burden and make it their own
A stunning red river has amassed behind your head
And suddenly, you are pure
Aren’t all sins washed away by blood?
Olabimpe Adedamola is a law student in Lagos, Nigeria. She loves art and spreading the gospel of human rights.