pieces, fragments & morsels

about being a girl

I held my best friends’ hand in a dark alley because we were scared of the shadows,
I tucked my best friend in bed as she was ill and kissed her forehead,
I wrote a poem to a friend,
I held a crying friend – crying out of joy
I learned to love my body more because a friend loved hers,
I got a massage in the middle of the night because we felt like it

Those same girls have been:
touched and kissed and harassed,
stared at by old men,
cornered in a train by strangers,
sexualized,
masturbated in front of, in a public place,
made out with after telling no.

I’ve been complimented so much by a friend after changing my style,
I’ve been to a ballet of a friend, seeing her after years and she’s been mesmerizing,
I’ve been out in a starry night listening to music with a friend, not talking at all
I’ve been having silent agreements and not so silent discussions,
I’ve been having competitions on who can run faster,
I’ve been trusted with secrets so many times,
I’ve been high-fived and clapped on shoulders and looked after.

I do not know what happened to them,
maybe nothing at all,
maybe everything
and they didn’t know,
don’t know,
or forgot.

Sometimes, I hate being a girl.
The way girls look at me when I don’t fit their standards,
The way adults tell me I can’t do something,
The way my body gets treated
And I’m in there.

Other times, there is nothing sweeter than being a girl,
Nothing softer and nothing I could love more.
Helping putting on slim clothes when they twist after showers,
Sun-creaming each other’s backs,
Cleaning out closets and lending clothes to one another,
Talking about all we love and all we hate at midnight,
Thinking about friends in postcards, singing together
Recommending books and films,
Baking cookies and sharing food,
Listening to music in group showers,
Sharing a seat, smiling gently.

There is, sometimes, something pure and innocent about the way we treat each other,
The way we teach each other love.