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Lynette Jul 12
(a poem for the women left holding the dustpan)

I remember when my children were small—
eager hands reaching for the broom,
begging to help.
They’d trail behind me,
half-heartedly sweeping,
missing corners,
scattering crumbs.

But they wanted to try.
So I let them.

I’d guide their tiny hands,
show them the rhythm,
and still end up doing it myself.
They’d get tired, bored—
drop the broom mid-sweep
and run off laughing
while I stayed behind
to clean it properly.

That’s what this felt like with you.

You insisted.
“I want this. I can do this.”
So I gave you the broom.
I showed you the way.
I slowed down, waited,
offered my heart like a home.

But the minute the work began,
the minute the dust stirred,
you handed it back—
too heavy, too much,
not fun anymore.

And like a child,
you disappeared into yourself,
while I stood there—
hands full of splinters,
heart full of ache,
sweeping up the pieces
of everything you couldn’t carry.

You wanted the broom.
Until you didn’t.

And now I’m here,
again—
cleaning the mess
you made of me.
Remembering the men who wanted to play, but not clean up after the mess they made.
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
“Please, I am drowning. I am suffocating. I am fading. This is my plea for help that breezes on your skin ever so silently. There is only darkness. There is nothing. No one. You tell me you’re there, but I can’t see you. You tell me you’re there to listen, but there is no ear. You tell me you are going to stay, but I see you leaving. Is it because it is too much for you?
You’re going through nothing. You’re life is perfect. You’re going to be fine. It doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels heavy. Heavy on the mind and heart. Scarring and wounding. Re-wounding and never healing. It’s not nothing. It is more than something. And maybe it would be fine if you .
You look me in the eye, and slowly turn the knife,
And im sure you have the best intentions to antagonize my life,
You throw the knife and use your hand terror in your eyes,
For you cant see your tries to help, is what makes me want to die

— The End —