Friday February 9 2018
Her dad scrolled through her instagram and found a picture of them he didn’t approve of. He rushed down the stairs and asked her about it. What could she possibly say? He started breaking her piece by piece and all she heard was slut shaming. She did not feel a punch they all felt like nothing at all. She felt his hands take off her shoes and although it was full of anger, she didn’t really feel pain until it dusted the hoodie she was wearing that belonged to him. He listed all the punishments but she couldn’t take her eye off the stain. He blamed it all on her mother. He said she couldn’t raise her daughter well enough. Call it what you call it but I love him dad.
I had two options : run to the box of razors I hid under my pillow and cut wounds till I bleed enough to numb the pain or do art. And so, I chose art. I wrote. I used the only way I know how to peacefully express the thoughts in my meshed brain. I rushed to the corner of my living room where they stored all the pictures they ever printed. I looked and looked for relevant pictures until I found what I was looking for. A picture of a beautiful little girl my dad once promised love to. They were young and he was fuckboy-ing. And here’s to tell you readers a short parable that I once came across “A boy and a girl were playing together. The boy had a collection of marbles. The girl had some sweets with her. The boy told the girl that he will give her all his marbles in exchange for her sweets. The girl agreed. The boy kept the biggest and the most beautiful marble aside and gave the rest to the girl. The girl gave him all her sweets as she had promised.That night, the girl slept peacefully. But the boy couldn’t sleep as he kept wondering if the girl had hidden some sweets from him the way he had hidden his best marble.” Similarly, my dad thought every adolescent male is the adolescent male he was. I rushed to tell one of my closest friends (Gogo from the last episode) and she told me “You aren’t meant to be if your parents don’t support it. Hiding the relationship has been draining you in so many ways.” This hit me. Being my wake up call, I’m fighting for you babe. And this is to tell you, my weekend was a roller coaster! I submitted my article late but I immediately knew what I’ll be writing about.
Thursday February 15 2018
I can’t let go of the days you spoke about feminism and the days you taught me men and women should have equal rights and opportunities. It’s crazy how your actions spoke so much louder than those hour-long talks. It was all a lie. I’m lost between who I thought you were and who you turned out to be. All your apologies can not rub out the memory of your abuse. I really want to forgive you but the girl you raised me to be can not forgive what you did. Every inch of me – my limbs, scars, guts- functions to cut out tough love and anger issues.
Tuesday February 20 2018
I miss the way you walk. I miss how your left leg swipes the floor clean to meet with your right one slowly, repeating that as you look around. I miss how you used to empty the chewing gum pack and bite on a huge gum ball. I remember the movement of your profile and the sharpness of your jawline. I miss the sound of your laugh. Spontaneous. Random. Genuine. Like those waves last summer. The waves that were too big to swim through so I used to fall in deep through them but I pull up smiling even though I lost breath. The blue hue captured me just like your laugh and the thought of it makes me smile. You smile when you catch me smile. I miss your smile. It smells like a breeze in my backyard after it rains. On your smile. The safety it screams. The peace sparkles it emits. One more glimpse of the dark-cinnamon swirls of brown in your eyes and one more push against those pink petal-like lips of yours can ease what I’ve been going through.
Friday February 23 2018
It has been 2 weeks 1 day and 23 hours since the day I last heard anything about you. It is difficult not to be constantly mocking the way you talk. It isn’t easy to be here without you. I miss you so much and I’m afraid you aren’t okay. All I do is think about how stupid you could be sometimes and how I find peace in your flaws. In my memory, our goodbye – that thursday we last met -doesn’t end. We just stay there, looking at each other, forever. And although my heart carries commitment issues and it could act like a fist of barbed wire to most people, this does not apply to you. To one more glimpse of the dark-cinnamon swirls of brown in you eyes. To one more push against those petal-like lips of your.
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