i began reading rupi kaur’s work last year and instantly fell in love with her way with words. her lowercase writing somehow calmed me. the best part was, each piece meant something new whenever i read it again. the words and illustrations flowed like thick golden honey.
child molestation and abuse is repulsive and sickening beyond expression. it is the darkest and evilest sin. to take advantage of a child’s obliviousness and rob them of the purity of their childhood.
ninety percent of child sexual abuse victims know the perpetrator in some way. the monsters are always right around the corner, ready to pounce. to all the parents out there, please teach your kids about ‘bad’ touch as early as possible. it’s never too early.
this piece is inspired by rupi kaur, who hauntingly pens the agony of this crime. she’s my powerwoman.
thank you, rupi. you are my sun, and i, your flower.
throughout the dinner
i never once meet his eye
peas, bread, juice, butter, peas
anywhere and everywhere
but those eyes
for his
have the glimpse of a tiger
right before it’s kill
a lethal blend of
bloodthirst and lust
family dinners are already difficult
grandparents discussing the government
and the subtle comparisons with cousins
but with him around
they seem impossible
bottles of wine emptied
plates wiped clean
the waiters now place
the finger bowls
in front of us
i wince as i see him
pulp the juice
out of the lemon slice
just as he had
squeezed the innocence
out of me
at seven
nothing
could wash off
the filth from those hands
which had dared to pluck
to unripe fruit
from the forbidden forest of my body
which was supposed to
be savoured by
my lover from the future
but sadly
even though he had
swallowed the fruit
it is i
who remains wordless
with a lump in my throat
and the secret
buried somewhere below it.
THE INK HEARTED 