Help me tell them,

That are oppressed and abused by their men,

They who suffer in silence at the recieving end,

Sound the alarm and let it pierce ears,

Speak up, it's time to stop hiding in the closet,

Face tender, sore eyes flooded with bitter tears,


Help me tell them,

Who are in shackles and call it relationship,

Where he hasn't done anything on your head,

Yet wants your back to know every inch of his bed,

No traditional paraphernalia nor palm wine kegs,

Nay! Doesn't even know your parents,

And yet strikes like thunder, giving you welts,


Help me tell them,

They that are precious jewels,

These daughters and sisters,

Who suffer and hide their scars,

That the cycle of violence ought to end with the mother,

That they should please get out while they still can,

There is no use reliving the past,

With a child strapped on your back,


Help me tell them,

That it is time to rise above,

The slaps, kicks, and abuse below,

That I wonder why they are still with that fellow,

Who spits deceitful wiles that make your feet jello,

Prince charming in public but a devil in the privacy of your home,


Help me tell them,

Not to listen to friends,

Who tell you, abuse for five out of five years is fair,

That it is the basics of a lasting marital affair,

Bear him a child and he will treat you as a princess,

But I ask, what use is it? If you can't see the end,

After a reconstructive surgery on a hospital bed,


Help me tell them,

That the line between man and monster is not thin,

That the story of Beauty is not with that beast,

That men do not make a point with their fists,

That Cinderella deserves a real prince,

One who will take you down the aisle and make you his queen.


©️ Adejumola Richard Ayodeji.