We are not objects, Mr. Trump

We are not objects, Mr. Trump

I can’t sleep. It’s late and my sheets beckon but I can’t go to bed until I write this down.

Sometime in the late 80’s, when I was about 10 or 11, I walked down the street from my place to visit my grandma who lived a block away. White printed top with blue flowers dotting it all over; that’s what I was wearing- yes, I remember the exact colour. Continue reading “We are not objects, Mr. Trump”

The Mirror doesn’t Lie

The Mirror doesn’t Lie

July 15th, 2016

I stand before the reflective surface, studying my form as it looks back at me, in all its nakedness. I cringe at the folds of flesh that spill out of everywhere- from my belly to my rounded thighs; my hips are so wide they could fit a steamboat between them.

My face! It can give a helium balloon a run for its money. Just look at those puffed-up cheeks and the double chin. Argh! Cutting out sugar didn’t help one bit. That face is set in stone, carved from cellulite that won’t melt, even if I were to take a liposuction tool to it. Continue reading “The Mirror doesn’t Lie”

Desolation- A Microstory

Desolation- A Microstory

The war was over.

Silence covered the battleground
Punctured only by staccato whispers
Bouncing off the bullet-ridden walls.

Women transformed
Into widows
as they prodded dead boots
and wiped bloodied foreheads.

The Angel of Death muttered,
‘I didn’t sign up for this.’

God whispered, ‘Me neither.’

 

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