womanhood

a work in progress

Category: The Sexes (Page 2 of 15)

He Won

Last night you were in my room.
Now my bedsheets smell like you.
Your skin.
Next to mine.
Flushed.
You face, staring into mine.

As we lie.
Side by side.
Curious.

Known and unknown.

Tender.
Delights.

X
K

Strawberry Nights

Come on over.
Baby come on over.
Give me 30 better yet,
Give me 60.

Make it us.
Just for a night.
We can do this.
Run with it.
A little wild.
A little sane.

On this strawberry night.

Let’s do this babe.

X
K

Cold

I caught up with a friend recently.
We are talking over lunch and coffees.

She was telling me about decades of love.
She told me of stretching out her arms.
Of seeking love from her man.
Of seeking touch in the night.

And she told me of the response.
Negative.
Nada.
Nill.

“It was like a slap in the face, Kish,” she told me.

Tears welled in my eyes.
And I realised.

I come from a community which shuns physical touch between men and women in public and maybe even doesn’t relish it in private either.
I’m extremely private, I don’t even feel comfortable holding hands with V in a street where no one knows us.
I’m wary of physical touch, especially if I’m stressed.
I don’t reach forward and hold his hand.
I don’t lean on him the way he does me.

I can’t explain it.

And when she said that.

I thought of Aru’s childhood.
How I lift him, cuddle him, love him, adore him.
I snuggle into him.
I can do this anywhere.
Nose to nose.
Cheek to cheek.
He knows.
It in his bones.
That his Maa adores him.
I tickle his toes and plant kisses on his forehead.
I rub his tummy.
I sneak under his t-shirt to rub his back.
I am a physical mum.
I get the most satisfaction from his touch.

And I realise.
Vivek probably had that kind of love from his mum.
This regardless abandon of physical love.
Skin to skin.

Touch.

And here I was.
Loving him.
Yet rejecting him.

And I cry now.

Because I’m trying.
But I will never make up for the million times I might have rejected him.
Made him feel unloved.

Because my finger tips failed him.
My cheeks failed his love.
My arms failed his warmth.
My language didn’t recognise his.

And I try now.
More than ever.

To undo a stigma of touch.
To undo lessons learnt.

To love.
With reckless abandon.

As a child, innocent to norms, rules and expectations.

X
K

Dear Aru (early May, 2017)

Hey Poochie,
I don’t know where the mind goes.
How to tame it.
Whether it should be tamed or understood.

But for you.
I try to be good.
Even if my mind is pulling me elsewhere.

But what is good?
Who defines and decides that?

One day, your eyebrows might raise.
As your start to unravel your maa.
As you start to know the world is round and
People do things differently to good.

And I guess.
I want to be good for you.
So you know it’s possible.
But I’m learning now.

That maybe it’s not.
Not all the time, for everything anyway.

So I guess.
If I can be accepting of you.
Then perhaps I’ve taught you a thing or two.
About what I need for us when it comes to me.

X
K

Checked Out

I need you less.
Want you less.
With every step that I take further away from you.

With every check in, every boarding pass.
Every time I move an hour forward in time.
You are less to me.

As if a figment of time.
That perhaps never really happened.
Perhaps all those things I never really said.

So.
For now.
Home is where my boys are.

X
K

From Here On In

From here on in.
I will scratch your name.
Off off everything we are.

I will start anew.
Seperate from you.

Ready for the day.
Ready for each day.

Where you treat me seperate from you.

This is not love you fool.
This is not love.

Schooled

I’d just like to take a moment.
To thank my husband Vivek.
For preventing me from becoming a man-hater.
For listening to my distaste in men, distrust in men, disgust even, in men.

And then pausing, to give me the potential other side of the story.
For reminding me that I married someone very similar to these men I so despise.

It’s simply that.
We’ve travelled a journey which has changed him and I.

And men are often whom they are,
Because they weren’t educated otherwise.

So.
MY WOMEN IN THE HOUSE.
PLEASE TAKE ON THIS ROLE.

Teach a man.
He doesn’t own you.
He doesn’t own your money.
He doesn’t own the surnames of your children.
He doesn’t own the style of your skirt.
He doesn’t own the sway of your hips.
He doesn’t own the food you have when you go out to dinner.
He doesn’t own your career.
He doesn’t own the relationships you have with your friends and family.
He doesn’t own the jewels you buy, or those that he gifts you.
He doesn’t own the right to tell you when to be home.
He doesn’t own a single inch of you.
Not an inch.

 

And it’s your role, to lock this shit into place.

To cause an uproar.

To fight the fight, be it little or large.

Stand up for what means something to you.

Live a life on your terms and not his.
Because if you keep playing the victim,
Don’t you dare go blaming a wasted life on him.

X
K

The Affair

I heard a song that reminded me of you, the other day.
A song about shooting stars.

I remember the day I told you, “I could really use a wish right now”.

And I’m glad.
You weren’t there.
You couldn’t show up.
You didn’t.
In that moment.

I’m glad.
Because it made everything clear to me.
About this.

And now I wonder.
Who was that woman.
Needing so much from a man?
Needing a sense of fulfilment from another man?
Needing to feel complete, thinking that you could make me.

Complete?

X
K

perhaps the thing is. 

that you’ve been loving yourself for so long.

you don’t know what it means to love another.
to break for another.
to fall for another.
to shed for another.
to warm for another.
to give for another.
to just.
be.
for another.

It just is.

You can never tick all the boxes.

Page 2 of 15

Powered by Life, Love and Everything In between.

Subscribe

Oh hi, please subscribe if you'd like posts to come auto-magically to your inbox.

I promise, no spam. xx K

Yay! Cannot wait to share more with you. xx K