Five Languages

You carry five languages in your tongue. // The first you learnt at eight / when he called you away from your siblings / and taught you why some men / who smile at little girls / make you uncomfortable. / You painfully learnt the secret language of mistrust. // The second language you learnt / at ten years old / when your uncle said, / “You will never be / as beautiful as your light-skinned sister.” / You heard your mother cry / five years later, / as you begged her / to make your skin / just a little lighter / for you had learnt the language of self-hate. // The third language you learnt / when you saw your auntie / go back to her husband / the one Umuada chastised / for hitting her. / She told you, / “A woman is nothing without a man,” / her eyes gathering tears / and you learnt / the language of helplessness. // The fourth language you learnt / when he kissed you at twenty / and you flinched. / He asked, / “What are you scared of?” / You didn’t tell him / how fluent your tongue is / with the language of mistrust. / “You are a virgin?” / he asked, / and you saw the glee in his eyes. / That moment, / you leamt another language, / the language of power. // The fifth language you learnt / at twenty-five / when your friends / brought you offerings of darkness / and you painfully peeled your skin / to reveal another being / learning / the language of change.