I've been telling myself lately that I'm wrong. that i deserved this. that i have no one to blame but myself. i've been telling myself 'what did you expect?' 'you should have been more careful' 'you made yourself too accessible. this is not your first time here. these weapons have been used against you before, how did you not learn? when will you ever change?’
but I'm not wrong. i am not wrong for trusting. i am not wrong for giving, for pouring into the world the kind of gentleness i pray is given to my younger sister. i am not wrong for expecting better. i am not wrong for sharing the contents of my food. i am not wrong for feeding a mouth. i am not wrong for respecting a body. i am not wrong for storing a secret. i am not wrong for being marinated in this honesty. i am not wrong for having a soft chest. a chest that breaks open. a chest so bare you can see the whole world inside. i am not wrong for applying myself onto your wounds.
but you are wrong. you're wrong for seeing opportunity in my affection. you are wrong for seeing doe-eyed instead of sincerity. you're wrong for seeing easy, instead of giving. you're wrong for viewing open arms as a shooting target. you're wrong for twisting my heart against me. you're wrong for walking into my home, powdered white lies on your lips, dressed in well-intentions, hoarding the worst version of yourself underneath your clothes.
you're wrong because you know better, and you’re not better. because you used my body to eat and leave. I will no longer pull out pennies to pay the price for your actions. i will not change my home because you've invaded it. i am still pouring, I am still wounded, but I will be telling myself something different lately.
Sabah Khodir











