I was treated like trash
In my own father's house
By a woman
Who dad introduced as my stepmom
2 square meals was a privilege
Even with my dad present
He's got no say on the matter
Could he be blindfolded by love?
I wept as I was turned into a maid
All in rags, right under my father's roof
A victim of child abuse by an heartless woman
Who says she's my stepmom
At this point, my memories drifts back
To the dying woman
On her sickbay
With a little kid by her side grieving profusely
Begging her to stay
But then she said:
"My chances are slim Pearlie"
Dad has promised to take good care of you
I'll love you forever
And be a good daughter
Today as I roam the streets of Lagos
With my luggages on my little head
I can't help but mourn
My beloved mother
But then as though her spirit led me
I looked up and saw
An inscription that says
SOUP, CHILL
And thanked my stars that the God of the helpless has stepped in
I walked in as though I would die the next minute
Lo and behold, I was treated like a queen
Atleast I've found solace in the four walls
Of a strange building