how is it so easy for you
to be kind to people he asked

milk and honey dripped
from my lips as I answered

cause people have not 
been kind to me



the first boy that kissed me
held my shoulders down
like the handlebars of
the first bicycle
he ever rode
i was five

he had the smell of
starvation on his lips
which he picked up from
his father feasting on his mother at 4 a.m.

he was the first boy 
to teach me my body was
for giving to those that wanted
that i should feel anything
less than whole

and my god
did i feel as empty
as his mother at 4:25a.m.













it is your blood
in my veins
tell me how i’m
supposed to forget



the therapist places
the doll in front of you
it is the size of girls
your uncles like touching

point to where his hands were

you point to the spot
between its legs the one
he fingered out of you
like a confession

how’re you feeling
you pull the lump
in your throat out
with your teeth
and say fine
numb really


-midweek sessions

















he was supposed to be
the first male love of your life
you still search for him
everywhere

- father




    you were so afraid 
    of my voice
    i decided to be
    afraid of it too















she was a rose
in the hands of those
who had no intention
of keeping her


every time you
tell your daughter
you yell at her
out of love
you teach her to confuse
anger with kindness
which seems like a good idea
till she grows up to
trust men who hurt her
cause they look so much
like you



- to fathers with daughters

















i’ve had sex she said
but i don’t know
what making love
feels like






if i knew what
safety looked like
i would have spent
less time falling into
arms that were not





sex takes the consent of two
if one person is lying there not doing anything
cause they are not ready 
or not in the mood
or simply don’t want to
yet the other is having sex
with their body it’s not love
it is rape



the idea that we are 
so capable of love
but still choose
to be toxic



















there is no bigger illusion in the world
than the idea that a woman will
bring dishonor into a home
if she tries to keep her heart
and her body safe



you pinned
my legs to
the ground
with your feet
and demanded
i stand up



















the rape will
tear you
in half

but it
will not 
end you








you have sadness
living in places
sadness shouldn’t live
























a daughter should
not have to
beg her father
for a relationship






trying to convince myself
i am allowed
to take up space
is like writing with
my left hand
when i was born 
to use my right


- the idea of shrinking is hereditary




you tell me to quiet down cause
my opinions make me less beautiful
but i was not made with a fire in my belly
so i could be put out
i was not made with a lightness on my tongue
so i could be easy to swallow
i was made heavy
half blade and half silk
difficult to forget and not easy
for the mind to follow




he guts her
with his fingers
like he’s scraping
the inside of a
cantaloupe clean
























your mother
is in the habit of
offering more love
than you can carry

your father is absent

you are at war
the border between two countries
the collateral damage
the paradox that joins the two
but also splits them apart





emptying out of my mother’s belly
was my first act of disappearance
learning to shrink for a family
who likes their daughters invisible
was the second
the art of being empty
is simple
believe them when they say
you are nothing
repeat it to yourself
like a wish
i am nothing
i am nothing
i am nothing
so often
the only reason you know
you’re still alive is from the
heaving in your chest


- the art of being empty























you look just like your mother
         
             i guess i do carry her tenderness well

you both have the same eyes

             cause we are both exhausted

and the hands

             we share the same wilting fingers

but that rage your mother doesn’t wear that anger

             you’re right
             this rage is the one thing
             i get from my father





             (homage to warsan shire’s inheritance)






when my mother opens her mouth
to have a conversation at dinner
my father shoves the word hush
between her lips and tells her to
never speak with her mouth full
this is how the women in my family
learned to live with their mouths closed








our knees
pried open
by cousins 
and uncles
and men
our bodies touched
by all the wrong people
that even in a bed full of safety
we are afraid








father. you always call to say nothing in particular, you
ask what i’m doing or where i am and when the silence
stretches like a lifetime between us i scramble to find
questions to keep the conversation going. what i long to
say most is. i understand this world broke you. it has been
so hard on your feet. i don’t blame you for not knowing
how to remain soft with me. sometimes i stay up thinking
of all the places you are hurting which you’ll never care
to mention. i come from the same aching blood. from the
same bone so desperate for attention i collapse in on
myself. i am your daughter. i know the small talk is the
only way you know how to tell me you love me. cause it
is the only way i know how to tell you.










you plough into me with two fingers and i am mostly
shocked. it feels like rubber against an open wound.
i do not like it. you begin pushing faster and faster, but i
feel nothing, you search my face for a reaction so i begin
acting like the naked women in the videos you watch when
you think no one’s looking. i imitate their moans. hollow
and hungry, you ask if it feels good and i say yes
so quickly it sounds rehearsed but the acting.
you do not notice.












i can’t tell if my mother is
terrified or in love with
my father it all 
looks the same









i flinch when you touch me
i fear it is him






 = Mohana Rajagopal