Whenever I see someone crying, especially my younger siblings,
I immediately tell them to stop.
I’m their older sibling and I must always appear strong.
They can’t cry because I can’t cry.
I have to hold it in.
You’re a slut.
You travel with boys.
You smoke.
And your paintings?!
You brought us shame,
Don’t come back home.
She stood, pretty as a picture,
In the midst of a place that despised beauty.
The eyes of the passengers, once cold and dead, were now filled with anger and jealousy.
Filled with unspoken words I’ve heard before.
I’m starting to believe that men see women merely as something that serves their pleasure.
Very few of them treat women as human beings,
Who have their own dreams, and desires,
And could be useful in things other than pleasure.
And you should ask me about men,
Because she who raises a monkey knows their games!
gender violence, hijab, romantic relationships, parents, social pressure, sex, body image, sexuality, consent
“When will you get married?" they ask me every time I’m home.
They treat me like I’m their little project, and they have to make sure I get my happy ever after.
I always joke that they act like my expiration date is coming up.
But to be honest, I’m scared.