When I was younger,
I knew my cousin liked me,
But time had passed.
When I visited them that day,
We had been out all day,
And we were very tired when we got home.
My female cousin and I went to the bedroom,
And slept deeply.
My male cousin came into the room,
Put his hand under my clothes,
And kissed me.
We were walking down the street, holding hands.
A man passed us by and laughed in derision.
“What are you in love or something?”
social stigma, sexuality, harassment, the street
Their looks pierce my soul.
O Allah, what should I do?
Why?
Why do people’s stares bother me?
I feel like something is attacking me.
The French teacher, Miss Lubnah, was very sweet and petite.
She spoke in broken Arabic,
But her French was perfect.
She was a great French teacher.
I found out what harassment was when I was in sixth grade.
I’ll never forget that day.
I’ll never forget what he looked like.
It was in the morning and the streets were relatively empty.
He was moving behind me on a bike.
I suddenly felt his hand on my body.
gender violence, harassment, the street
She said I should have just quietly changed seats, and that there was no need for all the drama.
"Drama?" I asked. "You think I’m being dramatic? So, you think it’s okay for someone to just reach out and grope you?”
We might see things differently,
But the guy on the outside sees my sister, my mother, and my fiance as mere “females”.
A body, a hole to fill, a corpse, a mattress,
A ride, a bang, a screw, a fuck,
A piece of meat everyone wants to tear into with their teeth
He slipped his hand under the table,
Put it on my leg,
And said,
“Do you know what a man and a woman do in bed?”
To which I naively and innocently replied,
“No.”