They say don’t bite the hand that feeds you
But what happens when that’s the hand that gropes you?
Do you bite the words back and hold on to his shoulders for dear life?
And pick up your torn clothes at the end of the night?
What happens to your spirit that they break in two?
Tell me when did the Shipikisha Club ever heal you?
Ssssshhhh! Don’t say a word baby, baby,
Hush don’t you dare cry honey, honey.
They say ‘Give of your honey pot he puts food on the table’
and you wonder if you were born with an invitation label.
When you try to get help they say ‘don’t be a snitch”
When you try to close your legs he calls you a little B…..(witch give or take a letter)
He calls you bewitching in the moment,
hoping to illicit just a little more movement
But you’re frozen,
A scream caught in your throat.
You just want to stab him,
you play with the thought and play out the scene.
The headlines will read “Girl killed her lover”
When in reality he is and was just a monster.
So just get over it.
See he touched me again and again in secret places
and left me exposed as he went up the bases.
He pinned me against the wall
Amidst whispers of how he’d take me raw (crude I know)
He said he’d have me cheering like I was at a football field,
Why did I have to be difficult? Why not just yield?
Yet all you do is tell me to get over it.
Get over it, You say as you tell me someone else’s story.
You scoff and laugh because I say I want him to be sorry.
But you’re not the one experiencing the night terrors,
You choose to be blind to these men’s errors.
But THIS is our society, THIS is our everyday reality.
I will not just “Get Over it”
Esnala Banda is a Zambian poet, writer, blogger and afro-creative passionate about women and sharing their stories. She also has experience in marketing and photography and has worked with a number international brands, and advertising agencies. She is currently a freelance writer for Nkwazi Magazine, African Feminism, and Zambia Travel Magazine.