When was I born?

A little over 32 years ago. A fair baby, no hair on the head. Pink lips. So beautiful, says mother. So beautiful there was hardly any dejection that it wasn’t a baby boy. 

Bold. Courageous. Always my own self. 

Always positive. Always happy. 

When were I born? 

I think it was almost 6 years ago. I sat in my bed a little over 7am. Elbow deep in henna, dried out from last night. Still groggy. One text notification. A long one. 

I am sorry I can’t do this. I am sorry there are more important things. I am sorry you are not one of them. I am sorry I did this. I am sorry I did that. I am just sorry but I can’t fight for you. I am sorry but I am leaving. 

Angry. Hurt. Scarred. Scared. Beaten. Battered. No more my own person. No more a person at all. 

Smile, or they would know. Laugh or they would find out. Don’t show them your wounds lest they make fun. Look, nothings happened. You are doing fine. You are strong, you are bold, you are courageous.

Life goes on. 

Remember the fair bald baby? Always positive always happy.

Happy. Happy. Happy. 

What comes to my mind when I hear this word. 

Nothing. No emotion. No thought. Blankness. Vacuum. Darkness. Glum. Silence. Pin-drop.

Were I ever born? I hope not. Oh, if all this was just a nightmare, happening as I lay sound asleep in my mothers womb. 

Keep me in, mother please. Give me mercy. Give me love. Give me death. 

I am a baby girl. 

To give me life was the cruelest thing you did to me. 

Why was I born….