Having a prosthetic leg was never a problem for me.
It’s other people who had a problem with it.
I could see it in their eyes.
The things they say,
Their disapproving looks as I carry myself on crutches.
I lift one leg,
And carry the other one.
Often when we think about violence,
We paint a certain picture in our heads:
A ruthless man physically attacking his wife,
Who’s considered to be weaker than him.
The reasons range from a sadistic desire to establish control to financial or sexual reasons.
He slipped his hand under the table,
Put it on my leg,
“Do you know what a man and a woman do in bed?”
To which I naively and innocently replied,
I stopped hearing about her a long time ago.
When I found out that she was in a relationship,
With someone who was prepared for marriage,
And that they were intending to get married,
I withdrew in a nice manner and wished her all the best.
I mean I know my luck:
I am always too late.
I just stood in my place, nailed to the floor.
My mom started telling me, "Dance, don't be as stiff as wood!"
My dad was engaged to a woman called Aida before he married my mom. Mom used to ask him, "Why did you break it off with her?"
One of the worst things to discover is that you're able to read the eyes of men as they look at your body.
Like when you start noticing as one guy looks at your breasts, and another at your lips, and a doorman looks at your waist, and so on.
Then you start interpreting the meaning behind these looks