She was six

When she was stepping off swings

A boy yanked her pigtails

Tugged her skirt

Ribbons came loose

Pink and rhinestones in the mulch

And she cried

Cried out to the teacher

To the “trusted adults”

To a world

That yelled back

"Boys will be boys"

The boys who see girls

As just their toys

She was seven

When her uncle said

To play a game

To be good for him

"tell no one" he said

cold hands on her thighs

"tell no one" he said

laughed while she cried

She was nine

When her aunt took her foot

Bound it in bandage

Toes crushed against the sole

Wedged into a three-inch slipper

when she wept

When she pleaded

She was told

"The men like small feet,

Small and pointed like the lotus dancers'

A big-footed woman is an unlucky one,

An ugly one"

And she nodded against her tears

For if the men didn't like her

She was nothing

She was eleven

When her mother called her name

Stripped her of clothes

Hot stones on her chest

ironed her breasts

so she wouldn't be like her sister

Eyed

Lusted

Corrupted

By men

By a world where she couldn't own her body

She was fourteen

When she walked

Alone down the road

A road that whistled 

A road that spoke of her

her breasts she didn't know she had

her hips she didn't care much for

Her growing body she now despised

her dignity torn apart by whistles

Of men

Men who were businessmen and bankers and bridge builders

Men who could be her father

She was eighteen

When she stepped into a bar

Loud music

Whiskey-stained tiles

A man traced her steps through the dark

“Beautiful girl, let's take a shot,

Beautiful girl, I don’t see why not”

And the next minute

All was dark

Her face bruised

Her body bare

She was nineteen

When she said his name

And what he did

The night she took that fateful shot

They saw her coat with his fingerprints

Her tights with his blood

Unwashed and untouched since then

And they did nothing

The police and the school and the people she knew

Because the boy was a big name

Valedictorian

Quarterback

Signed for nationals

About to make millions for the little town

And who was she?

She was twenty

When she wallowed in sorrow

Wishing she stayed silent

Hating the shot she took

Hating herself

Everyone called her

The sl*t.

The wh*re.

The girl who wanted a piece of the fame.

And they all came to the defense

Of the boy: their star

For if his reports were good enough

His touchdowns plentiful enough

His future promising enough

He could do no wrong

And she had none of that

When she spoke the truth

She got shamed

Yet if she had kept silent

She would be blamed

For society had made it

So she could never win

She was twenty-two

When she boarded a train

A few strands of hair

Peaked from her hijab

And a few strands of hair

Was all too much

For the police meant to protect her

For the men desperate to control women

Who

Screamed and sneered

Pelted and punched

Called her a sin

Left her bruised, bloody, and battered

For a few strands of hair

She was twenty-five

When she met him

Tall

Dark

Handsome

He promised

To protect her

To heal her

To love her

He flashed his pearly whites

His hand on her shoulder

And all was good

Until

She was twenty-six

When the pearly whites gritted

When the hand slammed tables

The moment he believed

Her skirt was too short

Her collar too low

Her beauty too vivid

And that made him livid

From behind the pearly whites

Came unforgivable words

From the hand

Came stinging red marks

She was thirty

When she bore him a child

As per his demand

Yet he saw other women

Younger

Sexier

Livelier

Whose stomachs weren’t stretched from carrying his blood

Whose clothes didn’t smell of nappies and milk

She did all the work

Took all the pain

Because he told her that was what a woman was for

And nothing more

She was exhausted

For as long as she lived

She was torn apart

Seen as nothing but sex and servitude

Because he said so

Because he was the better regarded

The higher-paid

The one who dominated history

And believed he could always take the lead

She was exhausted of the world

So she made one of her own

Where womanhood was a wonder

Not a burden

Although she could never erase her turmoil

Her guilt

Her past

She could spare someone else

And teach her that womanhood

Had so many wonders

That the woman had a power

A resistance

A light within her

That could be raped or beaten or stripped

Yet could never die

So with her she took

Her little daughter

​

A girl of six.