you became a total stranger when I was a teenager
\nsomewhere between burgeoning chest, hairy legs
\nawkward curiosity about the boys and the bees
\nyou were someone who always seemed to
\nbe able to stand between me
\nand my happiness<\/p>\n
it\u2019s funny how the bad memories
\ncan erase all the good ones
\nfunny how we hold on tight to the bad ones
\nso we can keep being angry
\nand keep having good reason to<\/p>\n
I know there were times when we were happy<\/p>\n
but I can\u2019t seem to remember it
\nsomewhere between crayons and breasts
\nI became your enemy<\/p>\n
now there\u2019s cancer cells
\nmoving through
\nlymph systems of my yesterdays
\ndestroying healthy tissues stratified with
\nour laughter and intimate moments<\/p>\n
I\u2019m like an archaeologist
\nbereft of treasures
\nyet desperate to unearth
\npieces of\u2026<\/p>\n
You\u2026
\npicking me up
\nlifting me to sky
\nso I could reach out and wrap cumulonimbus cape
\naround me like a mighty superhero
\ndiving off the edge of your brown feet towers
\ngliding into the skydance
\nof both our footsteps<\/p>\n
I only wanted to love you
\nbecause out the millions and billions
\nof daddies in the world\u2026
\nYou were mine\u2026<\/p>\n
but after many attempts
\nof diving deep
\ninto bloodshot oceans
\nof your eyes
\nhopeful for warmth
\nand never finding it<\/p>\n
the little voice
\nin the little me
\nstarted to echo whispers of forgetting
\nof just not caring of
\nthe times when we were pals<\/p>\n
somewhere between surviving and living
\nyour amour grew tougher
\nas your heart grew weaker<\/p>\n
now I didn\u2019t know
\nhow hard it must\u2019ve been
\nto wake up at \u2018men\u2019s hour\u2019
\nand walk to the battlefield of the workplace
\ntrading life force for prejudice and pay checks<\/p>\n
they stole nature from your brow
\nplanting creases between them
\nwhere my kisses
\nshould have been
\nI was too young to understand
\nthe depth of institutional
\nracism on a man\u2019s psyche<\/p>\n
I was just a kid
\nwatching sadness-shaped cartoons
\ncrawl out your work boots
\ncreeping into the living room
\nto have dinner with
\nthis family, uninvited<\/p>\n
you hurt mom
\nimprinted an indigo ring around her eye
\nlaunched ballistic missiles
\ninto the pillars of this home
\nin an attempt to control,
\nto reclaim your power as a man
\nto demand to the respect
\nthat was stolen at your workplace<\/p>\n
you say nothing
\nbut the silence occupied the air
\nlike in a gas chamber
\nand like mirrors neurons firing neurosis
\nmom retaliated
\nwith her tongue tipped
\n in plutonium warheads<\/p>\n
stuck between enemy lines
\nwe took cover under the bed
\nfrom the cross-fire
\ntrapped in a war zone
\nbut confused as to
\nwho the enemies were<\/p>\n
now all I can remember is
\nthe deafening silence
\nof broken glass
\nseconds, minutes,
\nafter it had been smashed
\nlike spilt milk
\ngone bad
\ncurdling pieces of stifled words
\nand knotted tummies<\/p>\n
never inflict violence on a woman
\nno matter how much you
\nthink she deserves it
\nno matter how she cunningly
\nprovokes your anger
\njust to get some energy from you
\njust to get you to gaze or even glare
\ninto her eyes
\nso she can feel like she at least
\nstill exists
\nbeyond the cups of coffee
\nshe perfectly brews
\nto gain your affection <\/p>\n
hurt people, hurt people
\nand no one ever taught you
\nto be the man I needed you to be
\ntold you that the pen or the heart
\nis mightier that the fist<\/p>\n
if I could\u2019ve hugged and cradled
\nthe 10 year-old-you
\nin my arms
\nI would\u2019ve stroked your hair
\nand told you it was ok to cry
\nto be soft and vulnerable<\/p>\n
just as much a victim of patriarchy
\nas I was
\nyou showed me love
\nin a language I didn\u2019t understand<\/p>\n
you dropped it into the sweat
\nthat fashioned the bread
\nyou put on our table
\ndyed your love into the fabric
\nstitched it into the lining
\nof my school uniforms
\nembedded your love in school fees
\npaid bills and rollerblades<\/p>\n
you put your love
\neverywhere around me
\nbut to the little girl
\nyour temper
\nspoke louder than your actions
\nand I have never been good
\nat treasure hunts<\/p>\n
I failed to find your messages
\nhidden beneath my warm bed
\nbetween the pages of my textbooks
\n in the pocket
\nof that sparkly dress you bought me<\/p>\n
but to be honest<\/p>\n
there came a time
\nwhen I stopped looking for your love
\nand I started plotting my escape<\/p>\n
when did you start believing
\nthat all women can\u2019t be trusted\u2026
\nraising me to fear what I will inevitably
\nbecome\u2026<\/p>\n
so this girl left for Australia
\nwith nothing but a backpack full of dreams<\/p>\n
the calcification of words unspoken
\nmade my bones stronger
\nmy shoulders perfectly
\nsculptured by these struggles
\nmy rebellion
\nbecame my saving grace<\/p>\n
and somewhere along this journey
\nI became a leader
\nwhen I could\u2019ve been just another statistic<\/p>\n
now I am Woman<\/p>\n
I finally found the treasures
\nyou had hidden under my sleep
\nand in my dreams
\nyour sweat metabolized as my possibilities<\/p>\n
time carved you back into my heart
\nand you are more beautiful to me
\nthan ever before<\/p>\n
I know you did the best you could
\nwith what little u had<\/p>\n
hardworking blue-collared brown men
\nhad no time for yoga
\nhealing sessions and therapy<\/p>\n
wounded boys
\ngrow up to be broken men
\nno one ever taught you
\nto be the man I needed you to be<\/p>\n
I understand now<\/p>\n
I love you<\/p>\n
I remember now\u2026<\/p>\n
all those times
\nyou told me
\nI could be anything
\nthat I wanted to be<\/p>\n
how could I ever have forgotten
\nyou had said that to me?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
you became a total stranger when I was a teenager somewhere between burgeoning chest, hairy legs awkward curiosity about the boys and the bees you were someone who always seemed to be able to stand between me and my happiness it\u2019s funny how the bad memories can erase all the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/972"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=972"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/972\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1216,"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/972\/revisions\/1216"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=972"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=972"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sahidaapsara.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=972"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}