I know you’re tired.
Tired of hearing empty words as if
every wretched day was built from useless scraps
and broken glass dressed as diamonds in the rough.
As if every “beautiful” and “fine” weren’t enough
to compliment what’s on the outside as they often
ignore what’s inside – which I’m sure you cherish more.
And even though I’ve never met you before
I feel like I should tell you a boatload of things
which might capsize and sink if left unsaid.
Yet what I dread is the fact that I might become what you hate the most.
All those men who have looked at you and saw
not you, but a prize they want to claim. As if the aim
is to see who the toughest is by winning your hand, and winning your
heart is just a bonus game. Every man who had held your hips
like a girdle – each finger like iron clasps, tightening till you
can breathe no more. Perhaps it’s just me but don’t you see
that they hurt you more than they give beauty to you. Those men
no different than cheap make-up who promise to make you feel beautiful
without even knowing that you don’t need them at all. Then one day
you’d call your best friend and tell her it’s not working. She’d tell you
maybe you’re using it wrong but she doesn’t know you’re not talking about
the make-up anymore. You are tired of all the presents, all the praises, all the letters
and chocolate boxes and flowers and cute pet names like “Honey”, “Darling”,
“Cupcake”, “Cutiepie”, “Bae”. They think they make you feel special but you
end up looking like a dog that they own, or someone who got into a car accident.
Everyday must be your birthday because you’d wake up drowned
in a sea of tangible things. Every hug might be filled with malice, every kiss with lust.
Those men who think they must give you everything in the world but
fail to ask you what you want the most. To prove their love they would promise
to lasso the moon for you never knowing that you don’t want the moon.
You want the little stars surrounding it.
Those men who say you complete them
as if you are a puzzle piece never meant to be whole without them. And so they
blurt out every cliche they could think of and spit it on your face.
They think of ways to make you say YES. Just that one word.
As if your heart is tied to that YES and they could pull your heart out the
moment you approve. For them your love is just a word, not a sentence,
not a paragraph, not even a story. What matters is the trophy
they could win after a game of arm wrestle. Those men who promise
to take you to a magical world filled with colors and beauty.
Yet once you agree to follow them, they lead you to a dark, monochromatic
alley and take what their bodies need from you. Then some will leave you,
like a broken mirror that can’t reflect beauty anymore. You keep trying
to piece yourself together but end up more broken than you ever were.
Others might stay. But they will chain you to that colorless alley, forgetting that distant wonderland.
And so your hands crack and form callouses from days spent working just to feed that
bump on your belly. And what really pains you the most is that they told
you to take it out, shouting “That’s not mine!”
Although I’ve never met you before, and maybe I will never do,
let me tell you a boatload of things you already knew.
Even though all of these happened to you – every hug, every kiss, every word,
every promise, no one can make you feel more special than you.
To the girl I’ve never met before, It was a great try.
But let’s start again. Hi my name is Hope, what’s yours?