India ;
a country where
approximately, 80 rapes happen in a single day
(78 murders )( 23 fake alimony cases) ( burglery rate 7.2)
the country which allows and rewards rapists
letting them roam free

in a country that is so poor;
"the poor" are not even seen as human beings
killing them; ****** them ; driving a ******* whole car on them ;
and the jury will make you write a ******* essay
the system will blame the driver
and the society will blame the poor
such a pathetic nation

but we still sing
with pride every morning
forgetting every ******* case
every ******* human whose done such thing
and watching movies and other such media made by pedophiles , rapists , molesters , murderers

I saw him see me.

“Hello, ma’am? Miss? Hi, can I give you a free sample?”

**** ****

“Uh.”
Cue winning smile.

I had reflexively glanced at the store name, Bee & Co.
Bee is my daughter.
All Bees are my Bee.

“A sample. Sure, thanks.”

“Can I show you another sample? Just in here. I know you’ll love it, I promise you.”

No.

“Sure!”

****! Betrayal. I follow him in.

The space is unnecessarily large and aesthetically devoid of personality. White walls, glass shelves, side lighting. Small clusters of bottles and jars arranged on a table here, a shelf there. It’s giving Everything Must Go; it’s giving White Woman Influencer; It’s giving American ******.

“I’m so excited for you, you’re going to just die.”

I am trapped, and we’re off to the races.

“Have a seat.”

He’s good looking, sort of wolfish, this salesman. Early-to-mid 30s. Well-groomed, brown skin, black hair, gay. Pale and underslept in that giddy way that comes with overcorrection. Coffee? Adderall? *******? It’s that look, that hungry look. His accent is warming spices and hard liquor, and boy is he talking.

Words like

collagen
-medical-
<penetrating>

as he enthusiastically smears a glob of something under my eye,
“This one because it has the darker circle.”

His dark circles pool under his eyes and he intently explains the same thing over and over again.

Anti-aging,
lifting and tightening,
fine line reducing.

It’s a needy pitch,
Too thirsty.

Well what if I like my fine lines, I don’t say.
Crafted,
as riverbeds are,
as canyons;
Emblazoned, each. Earned.
Emblematic of my many lives.

(A door opens at the back; another man steps out. We make eye contact.)

The serum dries like Elmer’s glue on my delicate under eye skin.
It settles in strange places,
Pulls and distorts.
Discolors and cracks.

“I look older,” tapping it with my fingers.

“STOP TOUCHING IT!”

I stop touching it.

The mall is so close. Nothing is stopping me from leaving.

                                           (I don’t even want it).

We can’t afford it.
There. I said it.
                                                        (I don’t leave)
-aghast-
“You can’t afford it?!”
Pearls clutched.
“You, what? Are you serious?”
                                              (Why can’t I leave?)
Uh. Well. I have a family.

Brick.
I wanna smack him as hard as I can
Step.
I wanna be young and beautiful again
Brick.
I wanna burn this ****** to the ground.
Step.
I wanna apologize for being broke, for having bills, for ******* around.
Brick.
I don’t like this. I can get up and leave.
Step.
I absolutely have to make him like me.

But he’s irritated,
“We might as well even you out,”
As he slaps the goop under my other eye,
Still talking,
Talking a lot, a whole lot actually.
Too much.

Okay this is reaching a fever pitch and I was not prepared for the hard sell today.
His voice edges with desperation,
Shame on you for getting in your own way.

(I’m holding onto the tow line
The boat is unmanned
Reality has become unmoored
We are, none of us, truly in control)

“It will last forever, it will give you what you’re missing, it will patch up all your empty holes with collagen and kisses.
You can’t put a price on confidence
But I can tell you honest
I’ll price it half of where it’s at
To help you with the cost.”

I gotta get out of here.

“Uh.” Winning smile.

He gives me his card
                                                     (I don’t want it)
- His name “BEN” and an email address printed on receipt paper -

And with him is a torn box.
Something and something about something.

(What is reality anyway but a deeply subjective personal construct, tenuous at best, unknown and unknowable but for the rare fleeting glimpse between the gaps in the seams of the fabric of the universe?)

75% off. Because of the box.

The mirror is still on the table.

“Look look, it works, you look great”

                                                     (I don’t want it)

****.

****.

The mirror lies to me in a thousand languages as the glue shifts beneath my skin.

If you listen closely, I say, you can hear me shatter into a million pieces.

clink. clink. clink.

Ben and I skip hand in hand through the middle of the empty room to the checkout counter,
pirouette, arabesque, plie,
celebrating the space.
celebrating my face.

I am exhausted.

Ben’s hands are shaking at the counter. The WiFi isn’t working on the credit card machine. His hands. Are shaking.

“Uh.” Winning smile. “I’m really excited to start using this. Thanks for your help.”

He visibly relaxes. Has he breathed even once since I’ve been here? More employees arrive, they smile toward us. All men. All men.

I can tell Ben likes me now. He’s pleased, thank god. My whole being recoils at the thought of disappointing him, and I uncoil intentionally.

(Don’t think too hard about it.
You can’t put a price on confidence.)

I hope we never see each other again.

“How old are you?” He actually asks me.
A lady never tells.
“I’m 40.”
I’m 39 but getting the feel for it.
Forty. 40. I’m forty. I’m four hundred and forty.

I am ageless as time and vast as consciousness.

He feigns surprise.
I tell him he looks young.
He calls me cute and gives me a hug.
I turn to dust and blow away.

“Can I show you something? I think you’ll appreciate it.”

You don’t know me.

Winning smile.

“What’s that?”

He takes off his sweatshirt - “don’t worry” - and rolls up his sleeve.

A tattoo. Just above the crook of his elbow. He beams triumphantly.

                   TRUST THE PROCESS

Thank you for trying to help me cope.
Thank you for trying to offer me hope.

But this wound goes deeper than the soul.
It's the way the world is broken as a whole.

You'll never know the crush to a little girl's heart;
The shock and fear and disgust that starts

When she learns how men will see her,
How they'll fantasize on how to use her.

When she learns her power is minimal
And she's at the mercy of men who are criminals,

That being in this body makes her a target,
And her worth is decided in the beauty market.

Every part of her free game to criticize,
And valued only as she's seen by men's eyes.

So forgive me if I have trouble believing
That the world is better than I am perceiving.

But my life is the proof that what I'm saying is true.
Be thankful you can't understand all I've been through.

I speak with a wavering tongue of abandonment
Unsure to explore the Old Story in a distant time
The dowager and the maiden forced to defend
An unexplored narrative that supersedes Her Crime
But the call is impossible to resist
Most especially a female’s debut is not of her age
Rather an unfortunate event where he exists
To inflict the indomitable damage

For in the beginning, desecration is a promise
On womanhood that prevails
Lingering from a girl’s memory crevice
There is an incomplete circle with raggedy details
So it is the phenomenon she continuously bleeds
Through the vagueness of a shapeshift letters
Her growling mind where the prophecy feeds
The neurotic critters

Bruises from the Elder Man turns into hollowed scar
The autopsy did not identify a blunt trauma
Only the stolen lullabies and constellation chart
Excreting from his mouth is a monochromatic drama
Challenging suffering with evil like a reverse lobotomy
No emotional endurance can express her distress
Over the gap between their ages as the legacy
And so shall the judge orders his arrest

The second Prince is enamored at first sight
He prays to the gods for their union fate
Until the war triggers her to fight
Her sins and rumors tainted it too late
Choice has been made to bare her skin
At first, she thought it’s empowering
Until it pulverizes her patience to thin
Being radical as her sweetest ending

The Rising Sun aligns with the beguiling lady
She howled at the future of his departure
But nothing hurts like a shadow of the first Macy
She tries to separate her identity as her adventure
So she can be chosen and different from her twin
In no connection to blood, only the lover
The world is crushed when the others win
Comparison between Macy and lady will not recover

Stability comes from the face of discipline
An offer of love has set the story into motion
But she lashes out against his morphine
Evident as her cruelty remains his devotion
Two years of an unrivaled reign
It must be finished
The anticipative break is present without pain
I spared his soul before it diminished

Tell me now, man of the universe!
Owner of all aspects and humanity
I was not born to accept your objective curse
My sisters aspire to rise and maintain equality
Except I see a dysfunction to the standard
I spit at the thought of Him by my side
Apocalyptic approach on this regard
Declaration of freedom will abide

Nonsensical apocalypse of her birth
Doomed by ***, astoundingly rebellious
It is I, a woman, who understands the earth
My nature is exquisite in spontaneous
Root of all evil, I shall not meet with forgiveness
I associate this Seed of Mankind
Let us dim its imaginary limitless
Upholding such values should be left behind

A cry from a newborn arises
Phallus is connected to the subject
The mother knew his fate on crisis
His crimes will be stamped with neglect
Finally, a girl is not caressed in regret
For it is punishment to be born like him
His paranoia, a symptom of being possessed
It is no longer a she that will end in a grim

I’m a man,
and so I can.

I can walk alone at night,
for only cowards get a fright.
I can post my real last name.
This life for me is just a game.
I can look them in the eye
(as long as I don’t start to cry).
I can curse and yell and shout.
That is what I’m all about.
Assertive is the way to be.
I'm the boss. Now can't you see?

I can dress how I would like.
I can ride a reg’lar bike.  
I can bend or squat or sit
with legs spread wide. I am the ****.
My gender, I don’t qualify.
Default is he, and so am I.  

And when I spit, I draw no looks.
My undergarments have no hooks.
My hair just sits as it was made,
distinguished as it starts to fade.
I can slap my gut with pride.
She said me too, but that ***** lied.
My pain is real; my anger, too.
And I don't have to use the loo.

Dear daughter, won’t you try to be  
a big strong man as safe as me?

They'll call her ruin.
They'll call her shame.

They'll never call her,
by her name.

Once the deed is done.
Her world it shakes.

As all her secrets.
Are laid out bare.

There is no hiding.
This ruined girl.

They'd call her pretty.
They'd call her smart.
They'd call her art.

Till she fell in love
Then fell apart.

The man he ran.
Like most men do.

Escaping the wreckage.
Of his youth.

The ruined girl,
was left alone.

Becoming a cautionary tale.
Of women's woes.

Whispering through history.
"Be careful with whom you love."

Athena turned ’round her head
like a night owl on the sly
and looked up behind her
as gold Apollo crossed the sky,

riding with his four coursers’
flying gilded manes and hooves.
Their silver flanks and quarters
thunder across the earth’s blue roof.

The rhythm of their beat
stamps a lyric all their own,
blood coursing with the heat
of the sun-disk they all towed.

The she-god of the wise
observes this cloud-streaked scene,
the man-god shining out,
casting shadows ’round Athene.

Apollo’s path is sinking low
as the winter months advance.
The frost now blurs his glow
and bare forests fall into trance.

It’s in this creeping night
that Athena finds her time.
She draws her wisdom in twilight,
no need for blinding light up high.

For she shines not with a sun.
Instead she lights her own pathway.
By her craft and wits she’ll run
her own trail she blazed today.