I’m afraid.
Afraid—of what?
Of losing what was never mine,
Or living again what once broke me apart?
Four walls hold me, silence loud as screams,
A prisoner of tradition, stitched into dreams
That were never mine to begin with.
They said, “You’re a girl — isn’t this your gift?”
Cook.
Clean.
Smile.
Be thin, be light, be silent, be bright.
A perfect dish, a perfect face,
A perfect shame wrapped up in grace.
You’re just seventeen,
Too young to worry, they mean.
But the mirror whispers otherwise—
“Be worthy for the man who will one day arrive.”
Why was I taught so soon to please,
To fear, to fold, to always appease?
Room messy like my mind,
Thoughts tangled, none kind.
White enough? No.
Thin enough? No.
A good girl? No.
Worthy of love? Only if I show
Obedience stitched into every chore,
While they walk out the door
To breathe, to live, to soar.
And me?
I wait.
A daughter not quite hers,
A bride not quite theirs.
“Amanat,” they say — borrowed breath,
Belonging nowhere till death.
They call me lazy for sleeping late,
But how do you rest when your thoughts suffocate?
Girls don’t get tired, they say.
Girls don’t get to ask why.
They just rise, serve, smile, and comply.
And if I speak?
I’m loud.
If I sit?
Too proud.
If I want rest?
I’m ungrateful.
If I don’t cook?
I’m shameful.
But what if I ran?
What if I fled to a place unknown,
Where I wake when I wish, and breathe on my own?
Where love isn’t earned by labor or lies,
And no one tells me who I am through their eyes?
I’ll go.
Far away.
Where the sky doesn’t care what I wear,
Where silence heals, not hurts.
Where I am not a role,
Not a burden,
Not an “amanat.”
Just a girl.
Just a soul.
Trying to be whole. ع۔
