Between news from places where I used to live
And news from places where I've never been
And news from where I live now
There's no escaping the violence
Violence against everyone
Children
Women
Every woman (at least so I think)
Has a story of violence
She can't forget
Either her own or
The story of another
I can never
Stop imagining my body in place of the body of her
The woman who has been killed or violated
It's the same body as mine
Or it used to be
It used to breathe
It used to love
And have a future
If I wasn't dissociating so hard
For the past several weeks
If I wasn't floating above my day-to-day things
I would probably feel more
Devastated
By the death of Saltanat Nukenova
Who looks so
Who looked so
Why does it have to matter how she looked
Who lived and who is now gone
Killed in a restaurant
Beaten to death
Maybe it's the fact that
Even being visible
Didn't save her
Maybe it's the fact that
Her husband
An ex-minister
Has been arrested
Maybe it's the image of her death
Being seemingly so casual
In a restaurant
There are women
And girls
Who will have this story
Engraved in their memory
Carved into their bodies
I can't bring myself to wash the dishes. I can't answer an email for a week. I wish I could have enough mental resources to read the several mobile screens long petitions and to sign it.
I also do not have many feelings inside. I've been numb and helpless. Routine actions. On repeat. Being a woman, having a woman's body is scary.