I’m here to complete a sentence. The one that says “women are half the society”. I read it somewhere sometime in my adolescence, and I held it up ever so dearly.
Little did I know that I was to grow into half a female.
I declared womanhood when I wore the hijab and held it ever so dearly. Then I grew and grew and hit an age where my body shrank, then shrank, till my brain became a prune,
and my womb devoured the rest of it.
“She’s to bear a child”, the other wombs conjured, “but she didn’t”.
I was though allowed to keep my left hand for the marriage ring.
“it’s naked” they whispered.
A skinny man once said to the sandwich guy “what’re you gonna do with the testosterone over hear” he nodded toward me, as I waited for my sandwich.
I could’ve left. I could’ve banged his head on the counter and walked out like a feminist.
I didn’t.
I only picked up my sandwich and sat in my car.
They were rumored to taste just like the ones back home.
It smelled like it.
It didn’t matter.
I only wanted to devour it. Quench my anger. Push down the lump in my throat.
The sandwich was too big. It had a bit of everything. North American. Couldn’t finish it.
And I don’t remember.
What happened to the other half
"HOAGIE HALF" by Mike Geno. pinterest.com