She had always been afraid of being used and thrown away like some expired item. She had guarded herself against boys by wearing baggy clothes to hide her
When I got pregnant at fifteen mama cursed and threw her wig on the floor revealing unkempt bantu knots. “I did not raise a harlot,” she screamed. “Who
My skyline is a view of unfinished flats: Cracks on the wall, jutting iron rods on the side, clothes drying on the line. Below the flats: clogged ditches