the art of growing

i felt beautiful until the age of twelve
when my body began to ripen like new fruit
and suddenly
the men looked at my newborn hips with salivating lips
the boys didn’t want to play tag at recess
they wanted to touch all the new
and unfamiliar parts of me
the parts i didn’t know how to wear
didn’t know how to carry
and tried to bury in my rib cage.

boobs
they said
and i hated that word
hated that i was embarrassed to say it
that even though it was referring to my body
it didn’t belong to me
it belonged to them
and they repeated it like
they were meditating upon it
boobs
he said
let me see yours
there is nothing worth seeing here but guilt and shame
i try to rot into the earth below my feet
but i am still standing one foot across
from his hooked fingers
and when he charges to feast on my half moons
i bite into his forearm and decide i hate this body
i must have done some terrible to deserve it

when i go home i tell my mother
the men outside are starving
she tells me
i must not dress with my breasts hanging
said the boys will get hungry if they see fruit
says i should sit with my legs closed
like a woman oughta
or the men will get angry and fight
said i can avoid all this trouble
if i just learn to act like a lady
but the problem is
that doesn’t even make sense
i can’t wrap my head around the fact
that i have to convince half the world’s population
my body is not their bed
i am busy learning the consequences of womanhood
when i should be learning math and science instead
i like cartwheels and gymnastics so i can’t imagine
walking around with my thighs pressed together
like they’re hiding a secret
as if the acceptance of my own body parts
will invite thoughts of lust in their heads
i will not subject myself to their ideology
cause slut shaming is rape culture
virgin praising is rape culture
i am not your mannequin in the window
of your favourite shop
you can’t dress me up or
throw me out when i am worn
you are not a cannibal
your actions are not my responsibility
you will control yourself

the next time i go to school
and the boys hoot at my backside
i push them down
foot over their necks
and defiantly say
boobs
and the look in their eyes is priceless

Rupi Kaur