Befuddled

Your emotions are hesitant. As if deliberating the wisdom or consequence of falling in love again. The room boasts of fresh linen sprayed in oud de linen. The air is fresh and fruity, with the elegance of a diffuser and scented candles. The light is dim and the ambience is peaceful. I spent hours cleaning and preparing a meal. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but that wasn’t my intention. I explored the parts of your mind that you allowed me to see. There laid old and rusty pictures of experiences you’ve gone through covered with humour. I dare not touch them, but I am curious to find out the truth of what lies underneath them. I reveal one, hoping you’d be back late from exploring the skeletons in my closet. It leaves me without a doubt about the feelings you’ve exposed me to. The image is vivid. Pain and hurt with colours of hope. I imagine that through the pain, you’ve always landed on your feet. The discovery of this piece led me to uncover a few more. This picture was full of life, energy, and enthusiasm. I imagine it described your bright personality judged by your good sense of humour. I get a glimpse of one more. I’m bewildered by the conflicting statements painted in this piece. It’s befuddled. I hurry back to the kitchen as I hear the door open. Angry that you were home late, I cross my arms in agitation. My heart beats faster as you walk closer with a hungry look in your eye. Your touch is rough. I feel a sense of assurance as you caress me with your lips. You take little note of the room I prepared. Instead, you pull me to the ground and rip my clothes apart. You order me. And in submission, I do everything as I’m told. Slowly, your hand frisk through my afro, followed by an aggressive pull. I moan in pleasure, begging for more. Your other hand vigorously chokes me till I gasp for air. You thrust back and forth till I shed tears that run down my face. You don’t care. It’s as if you’re punishing me for being so nosy, as I mistakenly left one of the paintings uncovered. I can’t help but glance at the rest. I hope to discover the rest of the pieces in your closet. The ones that expose the darkness. And I hope to learn about the person behind the humour. 

~Shantey Moabelo