Shart Through the Heart
Every morning, growing up in hot, sunny Saudi Arabia; it was a constant sweaty tale of heaving, puffing, dressing up in a navy blue and white uniform, and being escorted by my nanny (referred to as a maid in the Middle East, the not-so-political term, have you) to the very bus stop that made my heart give out palpitations every time I approached it after the most cringe-worthy incident of my life.
She was always there for me. This little voice that penetrated every depth in my soul as if she knew exactly what I wanted to do next.
"Sit Down, Boy!"
Let me tell you a story about life Boy. In this journey that we all walk along on— We tend to put on five different masks.
My skin crawled with the scent that you devoured me in. You liked to haunt me. You liked to show me that I wouldn’t move on without the memory embedded in the back of my head.