One to the five-year-old boy with a broken front tooth,
who once offered an extra flower with the 50€ bunch I bought
off outside of a local café,
now being a frequent part of my day, but instead I give him a snickers bar
in exchange for his extra flower.
One to the friend who used me, with the sparkling eyes
and the deceptive over-friendly smile, who peeled my layers off
to keep herself warm and blamed me for the blood on them smearing her.
One to those who betrayed me,
with their million reasons and even more lies pouring out of them
like they were a part of their being, as they clipped and clawed
their way back into my life overusing apologies to the point
One to the boys who asked for it, never directly,
always wrapped in excuses and prom date night questions and
breakfast getaway conversations and midnight calls.
One to the men who picked me apart, calling it curiosity,
calling me different and fresh and unique and
everything they thought they wanted.
One to the men who broke my glass heart, and did it a hundred times over
till I was more glue than glass, and called me a bitch when I didn’t break further,
blaming me for being a bitch, and then some more for being inconsiderate.
How dare I, put myself first, before their needs and
how dare I not give in to their pleas to hold my heart again
just for a second, before they break it yet again.
And then the chunk that remains, if something remains,
is mine for the taking. I can now heal and love myself and care for myself,
with what is left.
God forbid, I ask for a millionth of what I’ve given. Imagine the atrocity.
By Anahita Bilimoria
Anahita is a 23 year old Indian born and brought up in Mumbai. She takes a profound liking to literature, poetry and all things books have to offer, owing to parents who pushed her towards the power of words since a tender age. She is currently working as a Python Developer. She blogs her pain, heart, rants, and sometimes everything together; out on a small outlet named https://anaitabilimoria.wordpress.com/. Apart from being seen with her nose stuck in the pages of a book, she is also a self-certified foodie. She is a born misfit, and as it always is, words are her salvation.
Art by Marcello Barenghi