There were four bodies, walking in one line towards me.
It was a bridge, a dark bridge inviting fear to overtake me.
I was on my phone...What was I thinking being on the phone
whilst walking alone?

They first walked towards me with innocence and poverty written in their eyes,
there were lies waiting, perhaps hoping I could give them what they wanted.
Like the idiot I was I allowed them to corner me,
they cornered me like shadows leaving no space for light.

I held on tightly of the strength and bravery left in me,
my phone being ripped out of my hands,
my bag,
my neck being choked,
being held down by the weight of four men,
who simply wanted help yet turned their rejection to hate, hurt, inflictors of fear,
They gripped my hair,
There was no air left in me to breath,
My precious body ****** in shock,
I felt lost,
I felt blocked,
I lost my confidence,
then fought back with each and every vocal in me, I screamed and screamed and screamed even if it killed me, even if they killed me, at least I would have died with my bravery intact in me.

Dear sister,
I miss the times we would run wildly in the forbidden woods,
the trees would cast shadows of shields protecting us from imaginary monsters hiding ***** traps to trap us.
There was a glow about you that always stood out to me. You were happy, young and free,
(WE were happy, young and free!)

The last time I saw you was a year ago,
I noticed that even with you aging so beautifully well, the youth that once shone within you has started fading,
like a tree thats changing when entering a new season.
You've distance yourself from the memory of us.
You've decided to block the hurt that separated the bond that we once held.
Its like a forgot wound, so dormant yet growing like an invasive cancer, It reeks of pain, It reeks of burnt dreams, It reeks of a time we grew older and forgot those two innocent kids running freely in the woods.

I remember her,
shouting at me when I was a little younger.
I've out grown those days of being made to think that I am lesser than a man, or playing with boys would turn me into an lesbian whose only revenge of never having kids would be based on the fact that she, my mother Christine stuurman, lessoned herself.
with fistful of hurtful words from him,
with bruises she still loved him,
with kindness she let him in,
into our lives,
Shed her bed with them
living the same old lie,
men after men,
as if they were orbiting around her like the sun and star

What about me?
Why didn't I change she still asks today?
I did,
I changed every perception of men,
I changed how I treated them,
like dirt in sewage pipes they were to me,
I trampled on their egos, hating their existence and not understanding why my mom lowered herself so much for men. I wish she had opened her eyes, loved less and love herself more.
but life opened my eyes too, all I wished for her was to find a man so loving and understanding as the one I've found.