Girl Child!

These words are for the little petals whose stalks have rubbed the earth
whose seeds have drunk the ground.
These words are for the clouds that rain with hails.
for the wondering of their mysteries in innocence.
These words are for the ones who are she, her, female, woman, girl
for those who are the architecture of a home
the last tripod that will hold me and God.
These words are for Mary Magdalene’s, the Rahab’s, the Martha’s, Noami’s and Ruth’s
for waiting for sun’s to touch our backs so the rub the ointment of the moon.
These words are for the slang of fish, chicito, bae, boo, chickala, chic, bambino, girlfriends.
For the upkeep of our secrets buried in a transparent casket and laid on the floor.
These words are for the lost ones, the Aliyah’s, the Rivers, the Whitney’s, Kaffy’s
for the strong Okonjo Iwealah’s, Akunyili’s, Stella’s, the Yerima’s, Patience, Turai’s.
These words are for the hustlers Eva’s, Sasha’s, Sade, Muna, Blaise, Kemistry, Zee, Mo’Chedda
for upholding the equality in creation
rewriting the stories with Hilary’s pen dipping the same ink we stuffed in our blood.
These words are for the Paula, Dorothy, Henrietta, Vivian, Dess, Vera, Gabriella, Andrea, Deola, Rachel, Keren
for the branch that has pierced my heart
to make a tree of love, friendship and acquaintances.
These words are for the ones who may never return for their virginity and will was poured into the cup of the forgotten
and now sits at the bottom of the night.
These words are for the little petals whose stalks have rubbed the earth
who have struggled to be men, who are called women.
These words are for the girl child who want to grow, who fear to grow but grow still,
who have grown and grown to death.
Our words still find you in your roots growing.
that it may find you and teach you school
is a square, life is more than just spheres.
These words are to school your brains so it does not retard when placed on trains.
That dragons exist but they are colors of hue
unicorns are just part of the existence of men.
These words are to avert the arrows sent by the archer of doom
the one that lingers in the dark while some seeds find its room
between your lips or your legs, between dusk and dawn.
These words are for the wisdom reflecting from the pane of the windows
that was designed to let the air of yesterday find the nostrils of your heir.
These words are prayers, like the one in the smoke puffed by Abel
that it may find the path to a heaven
and rest with the potter who uses ribs
to model role models.
Theses words should find you
These words should warn you
These words.
These words are for you – Rudolph
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A flower is beautiful.
Beautiful as a girl.
A girl is tender.
Tender as a sacred place.
A place meant not to be desecrated.
Desecrated by a pervert.
A pervert who sometimes is a father.
A father buys his daughter dolls.
A doll has no private parts.
Parts that a dad should not regard.
Regard in lights of a wife.
A wife, it’s her who births your child.
Your child is not a toy.
Not a toy for you or an older boy.
A boy with white beards but empty head.
A head sick enough to wrap obscene fits.
Fits that shouldn’t be thrown at a kid.
A kid is a girl who you leave if you can’t love like who she is; A kid! – Hybrid
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Today I will celebrate my own. The embodiment of virtue. An ecstatic wench of glamour.
The spring of foetuses; a diamond looking path that screams WOMB.
Queen to Kings.
Mother to Princes.
Magestic in her poise.
Hey Paedophile! Let me ask how your finger can suit your dark desires?
Down to the cages of MALAWI, girls go through breast ironing to make them everything short of a woman.
In the city of Calabar, the implementation of female circumcision in a bid for the gods’ exaltation.

Yes! The girl child that is afraid of the opposite kind. Safety denied.
Activists like Sadducee ask what can be done?
Maybe if girls would have penises they won’t be subjected to a hole waiting to be penetrated by men of low discipline who dwell in the banquet of immorality.
Maybe the Indians would focus more on child appraisal BUT when reported to Authorities, they retaliate and lay with them forcefully in the bid to correct the crime saying, ‘why were they at a scene susceptible to have rapists’. As if the girls chose to be raped.

I dance like the Caribbeans celebrating my body. I’m glad I possess not a penis.

The Girl who has begun her life in Sambisa forest with the stigma of being named “chibok girl”. With dishes left unwashed, her clothes turned work uniforms ,pricking her day by day.
I fight for the girl child like me. I’ll gladly put offenders behind bars and kindly clothe them with acidic substance. Gracefully cut the weapon used to destroy. A safer place shall be the Joy of parents and guardians who lift up their heads in this era of Change. -Rachel Charles