by Rupi Kaur
nothing to do with sleep
and everything to do with
the people around me
- introvert
you must see no worth in yourself
if you find me worth less
after you’ve touched me
as if your hands on my body
magnify you
and reduce me to nothing
- worth is not something we transfer
you do not just wake up and become the butterfly
- growth is a process
i am having a difficult time right now
comparing myself to other people
i am stretching myself thin trying to be them
making fun of my face like my father
calling it ugly
starving out this premature double chin before it
melts into my shoulders like candle wax
fixing the bags under my eyes that carry the rape
bookmarking surgical procedures for my nose
there is so much that needs tending to
can you point me in the right direction
i want to take this body off
which way back to the womb
like the rainbow
after the rain
joy will reveal itself
after sorrow
no was a bad word in my home
no was met with the lash
erased from our vocabulary
beaten out of our backs
till we became well-behaved kids
who obediently nodded yes to everything
when he climbed on top of me
every part of my body wanted to reject it
but i couldn’t say no to save my life
when i tried to scream
all that escaped me was silence
i heard no pounding her fist
on the roof of my mouth
begging to let her out
but i had not put up the exit sign
never built the emergency staircase
there was no trapdoor for no to escape from
i want to ask all the
parents and guardians a question
what use was obedience then
when there were hands
that were not mine inside me
- how can i verbalize consent as an adult if i was
never taught to as a child
despite knowing
they won’t be here for long
they still choose to live
their brightest lives
- sunflowers
when you find her
tell her not a day goes by
when i do not think of her
that girl who thinks you are
everything she asked for
when you bounce her off the walls
and she cries
tell her i cry with her too
the sound of drywall crunching into itself
as it’s beaten with her head
also lives in my ears
tell her to run to me
i have already unscrewed
my front door off its frame
opened all the windows
inside there is a warm bath running
she does not need your kind of love
i am proof she will get out
and find her way back to herself
if i could survive you
so will she
parts of my body still ache
from the first time they were touched
the art of growing
i felt beautiful until the age of twelve
when my body began to ripen like new fruit
and suddenly
the men looked at my newborn hips with salivating lips
the boys didn’t want to play tag at recess
they wanted to touch all the new
and unfamiliar parts of me
the parts i didn’t know how to wear
didn’t know how to carry
and tried to bury in my rib cage
boobs
they said
and i hated that word
hated that i was embarrassed to say it
that even though it was referring to my body
it didn’t belong to me
it belonged to them
and they repeated it like
they were meditating upon it
boobs
he said
let me see yours
there is nothing worth seeing here but guilt and shame
i try to rot into the earth below my feet
but i am still standing one foot across
from his hooked fingers
and when he charges to feast on my half moons
i bite into his forearm and decide i hate this body
i must have done something terrible to deserve it
when i go home i tell my mother
the men outside are starving
she tells me
i must not dress with my breasts hanging
said the boys will get hungry if they see fruit
says i should sit with my legs closed
like a woman oughta
or the men will get angry and fight
said i can avoid all this trouble
if i just learn to act like a lady
but the problem is
that doesn’t even make sense
i can’t wrap my head around the fact
that i have to convince half the world’s population
my body is not their bed
i am busy learning the consequences of womanhood
when i should be learning science and math instead
i like cartwheels and gymnastics so i can’t imagine
walking around with my thighs pressed together
like they’re hiding a secret
as if the acceptance of my own body parts
will invite thoughts of lust in their heads
i will not subject myself to their ideology
cause slut shaming is rape culture
virgin praising is rape culture
i am not a mannequin in the window
of your favorite shop
you can’t dress me up or
throw me out when i am worn
you are not a cannibal
your actions are not my responsibility
you will control yourself
the next time i go to school
and the boys hoot at my backside
i push them down
foot over their necks
and defiantly say
boobs
and the look in their eyes is priceless
when the world comes crashing at your feet
it’s okay to let others
help pick up the pieces
if we’re present to take part in your happiness
when your circumstances are great
we are more than capable
of sharing your pain
- community
i do not weep
because i’m unhappy
i weep because i have everything
yet i am unhappy
let it go
let it leave
let it happen
nothing
in this world
was promised or
belonged to you anyway
- all you own is yourself
wish pure love and soft peace
upon the ones
who’ve been unkind to you
and keep moving for
ward
- this will free you both
yes
it is possible
to hate and love someone
at the same time
i do it to myself
every day
somewhere along the way
i lost the self-love
and became my greatest enemy
i thought i’d seen the devil before
in the uncles who touched us as children
the mobs that burned our city to the ground
but i’d never seen someone as hungry
for my flesh as i was
i peeled my skin off just to feel awake
wore it inside out
sprinkled it with salt to punish myself
turmoil clotted my nerves
my blood curdled
i even tried to bury myself alive
but the dirt recoiled
you have already rotted it said
there is nothing left for me to do
- self-hate
the way you speak of yourself
the way you degrade yourself
into smallness
is abuse
- self-harm
when i hit the rock bottom
that exists after the rock bottom
and no rope or hand appeared
i wondered
what if nothing wants me
because i do not want me
- i am both the poison and the antidote
first
i went for my words
the i can’ts. i won’ts. i am not good enoughs.
i lined them up and shot them dead
then i went for my thoughts
invisible and everywhere
there was no time to gather them one by one
i had to wash them out
i wove a linen cloth out of my hair
soaked it in a bowl of mint and lemon water
carried it in my mouth as i climbed
up my braid to the back of my head
down on my knees i began to wipe my mind clean
it took twenty-one days
my knees bruised but
i did not care
i was not given the breath
in my lungs to choke it out
i would scrub the self-hate off the bone
till it exposed love
- self-love
i have survived far too much to go quietly
let a meteor take me
call the thunder for backup
my death will be grand
the land will crack
the sun will eat itself
- the day i leave
i want to honeymoon myself
if i am the longest relationship
of my life
isn’t it time to
nurture intimacy
and love
with the person
i lie in bed with each night
- acceptance
what is stronger
than the human heart
which shatters over and over
and still lives
i woke up thinking the work was done
i would not have to practice today
how naive to think healing was that easy
when there is no end point
no finish line to cross
healing is everyday work
you have so much
but are always hungry for more
stop looking up at everything you don’t have
and look around at everything you do
- where the satisfaction lives
you can imitate a light like mine
but you cannot become it
and here you are living
despite it all
this is the recipe of life
said my mother
as she held me in her arms as i wept
think of those flowers you plant
in the garden each year
they will teach you
that people too
must wilt
fall
root
rise
in order to bloom
they have no idea what it is like
to lose home at the risk of
never finding home again
to have your entire life
split between two lands and
become the bridge between two countries
- immigrant
look at what they’ve done
the earth cried to the moon
they’ve turned me into one entire bruise
- green and blue
you are an open wound
and we are standing
in a pool of your blood
- refugee camp
when it came to listening
my mother taught me silence
if you are drowning their voice with yours
how will you hear them she asked
when it came to speaking
she said do it with commitment
every word you say
is your own responsibility
when it came to being
she said be tender and tough at once
you need to be vulnerable to live fully
but rough enough to survive it all
when it came to choosing
she asked me to be thankful
for the choices i had that
she never had the privilege of making
- lessons from mumma
leaving her country
was not easy for my mother
i still catch her searching for it
in foreign films
and the international food aisle
i wonder where she hid him. her brother who had died only a year before. as she sat in a costume of red silk and gold on her wedding day. she tells me it was the saddest day of her life. how she had not finished mourning yet. a year was not enough. there was no way to grieve that quick. it felt like a blink. a breath. before the news of his loss had sunk in the decor was already hung up. the guests had started strolling in. the small talk. the rush. all mirrored his funeral too much. it felt as though his body had just been carried away for the cremation when my father and his family arrived for the wedding celebrations.
- amrik singh (1959–1990)
i am sorry this world
could not keep you safe
may your journey home
be a soft and peaceful one
- rest in peace
your legs buckle like a tired horse running for safety
drag them by the hips and move faster
you do not have the privilege to rest
in a country that wants to spit you out
you have to keep
going and going
and going
till you reach the water
hand over everything in your name
for a ticket onto the boat
next to a hundred others like you
packed like sardines
you tell the woman beside you
this boat is not strong enough to carry
this much sorrow to a shore
what does it matter she says
if drowning is easier than staying
how many people has this water drunk up
is it all one long cemetery
bodies buried without a country
perhaps the sea is your country
perhaps the boat sinks
because it is the only place that will take you
what if we get to their doors
and they slam them shut i ask
what are doors she says
when we’ve escaped the belly of the beast
borders
are man-made
they only divide us physically
don’t let them make us
turn on each other
- we are not enemies
after the surgery
she tells me
how bizarre it is
that they just took out
the first home of her children
- hysterectomy february 2016
bombs brought entire cities
down to their knees today
refugees boarded boats knowing
their feet may never touch land again
police shot people dead for the color of their skin
last month i visited an orphanage of
abandoned babies left on the curbside like waste
later at the hospital i watched a mother
lose both her child and her mind
somewhere a lover died
how can i refuse to believe
my life is anything short of a miracle
if amidst all this chaos
i was given this life
- circumstances
perhaps we are all immigrants
trading one home for another
first we leave the womb for air
then the suburbs for the filthy city
in search of a better life
some of us just happen to leave entire countries
my god
is not waiting inside a church
or sitting above the temple’s steps
my god
is the refugee’s breath as she’s running
is living in the starving child’s belly
is the heartbeat of the protest
my god