I was 13

I was 13

I went out to walk

A man my dad's age

Stared hard

At my non-existant breasts. 

Every part of my body felt gross. 

What had I done? 

What had I worn? 

How had I looked? 

That I drew such attention! 

It took me 10 years to realize

The gross was in that man's head. 

I was 13.

 

I was 16.

I was at my first job. 

Every other person was way older than me. 

And they knew I was underage. 

Yet

A guy hit on me. 

Sneakily got my number, 

Tried to get me alone in a room. 

I was terrified of working-

Terrified of dealing with

A lifetime of such men. 

I was 16.

 

I was 19.

My male friend asked me out. 

I said no. 

I said I have a boyfriend. 

He felt I was just a goal

Who had a goalkeeper

But could, nevertheless, be scored. 

I was 19.

 

Until green and blue mornings

Dark skies and yellow lights,

Happy faces and content hearts.

Distant laughter and late night contemplation,

Slow sleep after lots of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

A lullaby by Saki. Or Mark Twain.

Sometimes a moth. Seldom a cat. Lots of tiger.

The rarely used, very organized desk.

The very, very used blanket and beloved cushion.

The missing of Amma's smell and Anna's voice.

The green mornings. Tinged with blue.

 

                                                -Aditi Prasad

Written on one pleasant Parijata night, drunk on comfort and fairy lights.