I once wrote an article about FGM (Female Genital Mutilation),
And wasn’t sure if I should publish it.
I decided to take my friends’ opinions,
Both male and female.
I was with a friend when he was reading the article.
His reaction was cold and strange.
We talked about FGM,
And he told me that he didn’t really understand what it was.
He didn’t understand how it happens,
And how it affects women.
He insisted on taking me to live with him and leave my mother.
“This is the last time I’m going to say this,” he said,
“Are you coming with me?”
He slapped me once, then twice, then three times,
Until I lost count.
I want to feel like I’m on solid ground.
Not like I’m on a piece of paper, flying about in the air.
Why are you late, missy?
What time is it?
You come home every day at 2 or 3 in the morning.
There are things that have happened,
That we refuse to admit.
Even when we remember the details.
We can never admit they’re true.
It’s just like watching a film,
That you aren’t the protagonist of.
That could never happen to me.
I’m stronger and better than that.
It’s never going to happen to me.
I remember the pushing,
And the yelling.
I remember every time I said no,
And how he continued anyway.
I felt as if I were transforming into a pillow,
By the way he’d close his eyes,
And forget that I was even there.
It killed me.
gender violence; sexual violence; rape; masculinity; sex; sexuality
Are you happy?
Are you as happy as your parents?
Do you love him?
Are you sure you’ll love him forever?
Is there such a thing as loving a person forever?
Everyone knew that these pictures were fake and fabricated and that she didn’t do anything.
But their reaction was that they wanted to kill her.