How many battles do I fight per day?

Pulled my top down, revealing my shoulder

Minutes after my mother told me to pull it up.

Walking past the staring eyes that almost drop out of the faces,

I marvel at my body which has been formed by culture as much as nature.

As I head towards the metro a man whispers, “You’ve got your period.”

He whispers it even though there are billions of women out there whose blood is enough to form

an ocean big enough to drown him.

He whispers the word period even though I have bled and bled monthly for the past decade yet

the war I am fighting still isn’t over.

He whispers it even though the same period, the same place is how he was born in the first

place.

I arrive at my studio, my second home, my safe space, where my colleagues stare at the same

top and the same shoulder and share a knowing look when I get the promotion.

And I stop myself from going to the bathroom to readjust my clothes.

Remembering that I am nobody’s worth but my own.

As I take the bus back to the station with my boyfriend by my side,

I huddle closer to him contemplating what happened to another woman in another bus in

another town.

I contemplate how I had to grow up in a society where hearing about such incidents is as normal

as eating a cookie.

A man just got in. He is staring at me. How many times have I feared for my safety whenever

someone stares at me.

How many times have I had to stay alert not because of me but the people around me.

I can’t let such a society hold me.

Nobody’s to watch, nobody’s to own

My body carries my own stories

As I fight to rise above,

Untethered, fierce and known.

How many battles were that?

Felt like a hundred.

I am Zahabia.(@/justapancha) I am studying animation. I like travelling, literature, design and writing. I write

narrative poetry and hope that this piece is eye-opening for women out there who are trying to

suppress themselves due to what’s happening out there in the world.