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Metal Bars

The sun began to set, from my crown to the edge of my left ear. The sky lit up like a young flame.
“Mum, why not? Patty is out there, waiting. Mum…”

The blood’s red
The blood’s red
Boiled in fates laugh

“… I know what you’re going to say. I’m a Afghani girl. I’ve got culture, but I know it!”

Sweet wrinkle
Sweet wrinkles
Decay my frowning face

“…I pray, I sing, dance, cook, sort of. What more do you want me to do? I deserve…”

Sweat stenches
Sweat stenches
Await, the explosion of perspire

“… going. And I will! Mum, speak…”

Heart’s shatter
Hearts shatter
At the ripening of my scream.

“…Ma… Dad, he won’t listen. But you know what I go through. Please! Mum… I wont go unless you say so—”

“Then, you’re staying here!”
“You’ll never understand me! F—”

I felt it coming and tried to resist but I needed to let out. Like mad dogs released from a cage, my selfish thoughts became words, yelled. I sit here, contemplating. Was it right or wrong?
There was still that one dog caged with beaming yellow eyes, with cunning teeth, patiently waiting for its escape.
A whirlpool of evil thoughts and suicidal pleasures spun realms of comic strips. Comedy… that’s what my life is. That’s why they laugh at me. The hairy legs, the long skirt, the naivety… it was comedy to them. The same comedy that tickles my body till it hurts. It forces me to lie, to shave my legs, to roll up my skirt, to lie about things which have names I cant even spell. And today when I tried to live the American paradise for a few hours, I was summoned to a months worth of humiliation.
Those cunning teeth grin. Drops of acidic saliva echoing beneath the earth, sounds that caress the devil to his hideous smile.
Why? Why must the gods cry? Why can’t they wipe their tears and retrieve me from this life? Rid me of this hysteria. I pray everyday to him, to Allah. Stop sympathizing! I sit here, thinking and cursing, wounding my heart with hatred.
I no longer wish to speak their names or touch their food. I want to rip fertility from her womb and pride from his chest and do all they condemn. Kill this thing they call childhood. What did they say? Foods sacred? I’ll ladden it with spit. Not once but twice to show them what tradition, culture is. Why would I eat that food, riddled in spice? Such is the meals for that dog. Grow, grow! Outsize the bars. Grow!

I sit here. Just sit. Waiting for the night to end…
Waiting for my mouth to smile…
Waiting for the sun to rise…
for the easterly sun to praise my tanned skin.
The yellow eyes died to green, to blue, no longer seducing me. It’s paws limped wheels around my thoughts and died out stretched in surrender. I was his master once again.
I walked out of my isolation into the view of my mother’s ex-ray eyes. She could read my guilt. I wasn’t guilty. I was scarred. Another stroke added to my tally of defenselessness.

Sometimes, now and again, when the moon crescendo’s to the sky, I hear it… Dark claws scratching at the metal bars.

Journal Comments

  • Whirligig