It feels like a sort of self betrayalYour abuser makes you laugh in public; yet treats you like a wet napkin in private.To them you are only useful until your are disposable again.So you join in the laughter.Silence the ten angry women inside of you.Hoping that maybe, next time it is youand the abuser alone things could be a little bit different.But them or things; they never change.And you; you always stay.You always hope.You always laugh.It feels like a sort of self betrayal
-Ezinne Orjiako
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