Mirror

malalai, you call your name out
like trying to find a robber at night.
you quiver when you hear 
those syllables spoken, right or wrong.
silence feels more innate than language—
your lips move like it’s foreign.
fear scratches like sandpaper on your tongue,
a parched desert that knows nothing, noone.
you carry a sickle for a field that doesn’t exist. 
you look for an oasis that is only drenched in your dreams.

malalai, your heart still jumps 
when you hear your name back again, 
fearing your own echo, 
hating your own reflection.
time is pulling your childhood from beneath your feet, 
as the dust of nostalgia coughs up memories 
sticking to the back of your throat 
you’re afraid to swallow like a keepsake. 

malalai, you were bound with grief 
the moment you were named
and you will carry it back to your grave.
you would rather bite into your hand 
until the flesh turned blue and red 
than reach out a hand, 
begging for salvation.
you wait for deliverance 
and when it comes to your door, 
you turn it down, 
your fear disguised as pride.

malalai, can you hear them laughing?
why are you smiling?
you lie this happiness to me 
and you know i know it.
burnt out, gifted middle child,
you long for the wild.
you long for the wild.
but you’re also a girl.
but you’re also a girl.
does being a girl 
mean hiding from the world?
where is your smile?

malalai, you hold on to your grief
like a rope that drags you off
into nothingness,
cutting into your palms
but it’s the only hand you’ve ever felt.
your rage makes you feel whole.
what would you do without it?
will spilling your own blood
bring you love?

malalai, who do you look up to 
when you’ve been taught to look down 
at the ground 
all along?