My father came in and slapped me on the face.
“Isn’t it enough what you did?” he said.
Then my mother said,
“Isn’t it enough what happened?!
Isn’t it enough what you did?
What more will you do?”
I’ve always liked to read about everything.
I got my period in the eighth grade,
And I knew what it was from the things I had read.
I used to place tissues in my underwear,
Until I found out about pads.
Why hit me for peeing myself,
When she could’ve tried to figure out why I was struggling with it?
Why hit me for putting on lipstick as a child,
When she could’ve just told me not to?
Why hit me with belts, cables and shoes,
When she could’ve reasoned with me?
Because of my curiosity,
I asked mama for one too.
“That’s for big girls only,” she’d say in an upset and serious tone.
My curiosity compelled me to wear the hijab like them,
Just so I could be a grown up woman like them.
But still she ignored me.
I kept secretly watching them,
She committed a sin.
Her parents have been angry with her ever since.
It hurts knowing that if she were a guy,
They wouldn’t have treated her that way.
My father used to beat me up when I was young, and he still does until this day.
My brother learned to be violent with me from him. He beats me up over trivial reasons, and sometimes without any reason at all.
I suffered from depression when I was 11 years old from all the things I’ve been through.
domestic violence, gender violence, physical violence, parents, depression, suicide
“Why do you talk to boys?
Why’d we send you to an all-girls school then?”