Mother said there is a demon in me, waiting to devour my hymen.
She said in the palm of my hands, lies a fire lighter, that sets their soul ablaze,
Younger me couldn’t understand these things, but somehow I perceived the sadness on mother’s face.
The rest of my childhood was filled with hole stories, so all we did was to fill the void this hole left,
Like celebrating our landlord’s daughter, whose matrimony was called off, because her suitor learnt her hole was constantly drilled,
I can still hear the wail of Esther at night, as we cleaned the blood on her wobbled legs.
I spent time gazing at the mirror, looking for the reflection of my old self,
My lips sore from Judas’ kiss, as I’d set his pitch high and rode him till he reached climax,
It was my sixth in a few years, as he reserved the right to move on…
I regretted wearing the shroud of a girl,
With my reputation in the hands of a judgemental society,
Where our bodies are rated from one to ten on the scale of preference..
Here, being a brostitute is a thing of pride, like counting the number of holes you’ve drilled,
Unfortunately, these dogs are overprotective of their sisters and daughters…
Now I’m thirty, the mother of three,
Recently I joined the crowed to lynch a rapist in the market,
And also defaced the face of the boy who tried to spank my daughter’s butt.
My husband sees me as a threat to his sanity,
And the society see me as an advocator of feminism..
Am I really a feminist?