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Diaries Of A Black Doll

You like the type of love that is not easy.
The one where you feel like the other woman after 23 years of marriage, his ring on your finger and the 5 children you gave him. The other 5 children he had before you, the ones who never forget to make you feel like filth,  like a home breaker, that make you live in fear. Because somehow they are always coming for you, the one that broke their home. Somehow their mother didn’t tell them how she was long gone before you came. And now? After 23 years he still doesn’t feel like yours and home doesn’t feel like home, it becomes just a place you go to sleep. You need assurance, the house in your name, your signature as the other signatory to his accounts, your children in his will.

You like the type of love that is not easy.
The one where you are someone’s secret.  Something to be hidden; in his car, bent to him as if in worship, gagging yourself with his penis trying not to vomit your feelings and your shame or walking into a hotel separately to the same room. There is no conversation;  you don’t talk about his exotic girlfriend with skin like milk, you don’t ask him why she is not enough, you don’t ask him what he is doing with you, you don’t talk about his likes or dislikes, you don’t ask him how his day was, you don’t tell him how you feel a little less woman and more like a call girl when you get his texts, “Where are you?”, “Send me a video”, “I want to see what panties you have on”. You don’t tell him how spend a little too long trying to get the best angle of your body, to look anything close to his girlfriend. And all he says after is “Nice”.”Damn”.”More”.

You like the type of love that is not easy.
The one where you hide your scars with clothes, makeup and lies. You stopped exposing your arms with the dark red marks all around them from the cuts and bruises he inflicted. You started using concealer and foundation to hide the black eye and the map of his fingers when they slapped your face. You told stories about how you fell on the stairs, slipped in the bathroom and ran into the cupboard when your lights went off. You listen to him tell you over and over again that he will get help. You look at his desperate eyes and your legs become paralysed so you cannot leave. You love him instead because it is all you know.

You like the type of love that is not easy.
The one that leaves sawdust in your mouth when your husband introduces you to the 21 year old girl with fake lashes and red claws he is in love with and is going to marry. After you quit your job because he thinks you are ridiculous for wanting to work. After having two of his kids who always cried like bleating goats in the dead of the night robbing you of sleep. After becoming this fat unattractive thing because all you did was stay home to cook food you ended up eating alone. The love that destroys you from your soul, the one that reminds you of your wretchedness, the one you warn your daughter of; that sometimes the worst things come in the name of love.

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