A Dress for Eid

I feel bad for getting a divorce.
He’s happy he took the apartment.
He got remarried and they’re living in it.
I only care about my children.
I won’t get married again,
Unless the man wants me for who I am,
Which requires a miracle.

Maybe that’s what’s why I’m struggling,
Because I know it’s not going to happen,
And I’ll always be alone.
I keep asking myself,
Whether I’ll be able to survive on my own, without a husband.
Will people let me live in peace?

I had a recurring dream when I was young,
That my mother wasn’t actually my mother,
And that my father was married to another woman,
Who looked exactly like my mother.
I don’t know why I kept having this dream.
Maybe because my mother was very hard on me,
And my father was kind.
Everyone used to say that he spoiled me.
But I didn’t see it that way.
He used to shout all the time,
And my mother used to hit me,
So I’d grow up to be a proper housewife.
It was always: sweep, cook, clean.

I remember when I was young,
My father took me to the market,
And bought me a red dress for Eid.
I remember staying up all night,
Waiting for Eid to come,
So I could wear the dress.

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