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I was two months premature.
I was stuck in the womb with my twin sister. She was a nice and healthy baby. My mother was 6 months in when she found out she was halving twins. I was too tiny to be seen in the ultrasound and as a result, me and my twin sister came out two months earlier then expected. My mom had problems during this time. Due to my size, I was placed into a glass box for three days. I was not able to drink milk properly, so I had pipes stuffed into my nose to get fed. My sister was able to come home but I was stuck in the hospital with my dad until my departure.
I was saved by god.
I don’t remember much about my childhood. Only the fact I mainly stuck with my twin and I grew up too quickly. I think most of my childhood is faded because of my family.
I had a cousin who would touch me. And he wouldn’t stop.
Years later, I would find out I am not the only victim. His tactic was similar throughout my female cousins and even my twin sister. Although all of us had different experiences, it was nonetheless alike.
I hate hide and seek. Hearing my heart pound as I heard the seeker come near. I hate walk in closets stuffed with clothes. Too much that they would melt onto the ground. I hate the smell of axe and sweat and men. That smell of must covered with the smell of that repulsing cologne. I hated small pantries. Full with nothing but brooms instead of food. And most of all… I hate brown boys. All of them the same. No difference in attributes, no difference in style, no difference on their shame.
A Tom and Jerry cake I could so vividly remember. So articulately made even though it tasted awful. Regardless, I was glazed upon its arrival. So focused on the cake after playing a game of hide and go seek, in a walk in closet that smelt like axe must, with a brown boy who also takes me to a small pantry with a broom inside instead of food.
My sister said it didn’t go on for too long but I like to say otherwise. I remember it happening in two different locations in multiple spots. It all stopped. Not because someone caught him, not because he wanted to, but all because of a tattletale, my own sister.
This could’ve stopped by an adult if only they saw the signs. But why would the adults care? They were head into their conversations to even mind. My sister begging for everyone's attention, everyone to listen to her, everyone to hear his monstrous acts but no one budged. No one but his mother. She spoke up and told the adults to
“Shut up!” As they quieted down and listened to her…
“Can you tell him to stop? I don’t like when he kisses me.”
We were saved by god.
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