My mother was the knife

that took it from me.

She wielded it as it had been

     for her and the others. Held


me down as I screamed.

‘Don’t let them do it, Mummy!

Please! Please! Don’t.

Stop it! Mummy! Til 


they stuffed my mouth and 

then my eyes bulging in terror,

continued to torture me.


I screamed at the gags,

at the excruciating pain.

They, ignored my struggles,

knowing full well what they were taking.

They cut and sewed, 

sealing a future for me

where I’d spend my

whole life 






to satisfy men.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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