I Grew Up

They always told me, You’ll grow up and forget all about it.

 

When I fell and cracked my skull.

When my math teacher told me to stand facing the wall,

Because I forgot that 7 x 6 = 42.

 

When my bicycle broke and they didn’t buy me another,

So I wouldn’t break it.

When the vessel sheltering my spirit broke.

 

When my parents died.

When I didn’t die.

When the world was too much and I was alone.

 

When my brother tore apart my doll because Barbie is haram,

And canceled Spacetoon because Pokémon is haram.

 

When he removed the photograph of my mother and father from the picture frame and buried it in the broken drawer,

So as not to drive the angels away.

 

When the cracks in the wall filled with devils.

 

When I was forced to enroll in the Girls’ College,

To preserve my chastity.

When he offered me to his friend in marriage,

To preserve my chastity.

 

When I tore the covers off my books to protect them from
the fire.

When I wrote my first poem on the bottom of a box of tissues,

Trembling in fear.

 

When he dragged me by my hijab at my first poetry reading.

When he finally slapped me.

 

They all said, You’ll grow up and forget all about it.

 

Problem is, I grew up and didn’t forget.

I grew up and I didn’t forget all that I want to forget.