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Billye Okera

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Member Since: Mar, 2007

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It's Always The First Time
by Billye Okera
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...And because she did not scream, she did not fight back, she just survived...she must be stoned.

Itís always the first time


Billye Okera


 


 

Itís always the first time:

Penetration, pain, petitions for grace and pardon not forthcoming,

I clothe myself in fantasy

  and remorse.

Of course, he is not a mean man

 He is just everyman

And IÖa piece of salt pork upon a slab

Where knife in hand

He practices his nocturnal emissions.

Commissions of fingers to lips and the tips of his tongue

Telling me not to tell.

 

I did notÖtell, you know.

But, welling in me Ö

A broke and mangled child

 Grown now into a woman of tears

Fearing nothing but death

 By my own hand

 

Itís always the same sentence

I do not move

I do not scream

And sense the sin came

Within the city

 Within my mothers house

 And I do not screamÖ. I cannot be redeemed

I most be taken to the edge of the city

And stoned.

 



I must be put to death, but I do not die

I just cease to rise in the morning with any joy

I cease to hear the music

I cease to play

My childhood is over


 

I smell every smell

I notice the grimace.  The wink.  The look.

I discern spirits

I am aware of every movement

I am guilty of everything.

 

I blame God for nothing

I release Him from everything

Finding him busy tending bigger holocaust

 I am convicted of everything

 But mostly of not loving God

Who didnít love me enough to save me

Didnít love me enough to find me a place to hide

And when on seeing the multitude of my sinsÖ

   Crossed over to the other side.

                                               
 
 
 



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Reviewed by Blondie Clayton
Billye, when I read the opening of your page I knew I was in for an experience. A touching piece. I would have cried had I not been healed. The sting is gone. For a moment, I realized that it's the same old song to those who have been there.

Awesome!!!!!!11
Reviewed by Art Sun
Such a sad expression of thought....the poetic view of one who passed the time of abuse as child....sad....


sad and yet a nice work of expression....

Art Sun...
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