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Behind Nigerian Doors

You could feel the sound of the 


As he thrust in


You could hear the pain

As she folded her lips

And prayed 


To what you might think 

She was not stiff

Or unresponsive

She did not cry either

She grabbed his hips

Her slender fingers

Barely forming prints

On his slick skin

The least you could call it

Was Obscene 

What else would you call

A girl, aged sixteen

Masterfully manipulating

A size three times

Than she's seen?

Pleasure was her forte

Giving pleasure

While she ate the belt

The fists

The kicks

And teeth on her lips

As her slice

The clock ticked Four

It was Four in the morning

The second "Uncle"

Her father would ask her 

To service

Before he came

Took his pay

His fists a loving assault

And left her to head to class

With the title of a slut

©Enero Aji



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