One day I moved out of home,
I lived alone for nearly five months,
I gained lots of weight
and for the record
I thought I was going to die in a foreign country.
I desperately cried for my mom,
my dogs and my bed,
but I was alone;
and for better or worse
I fell in love with many, many guys.
But he, he was the one,
the one with the familiar name
but still,
I couldn’t pronounce it without it sounding strange in my mouth;
like cotton candy, sweet and soft
and fucking sticky when making love;
the polite polish guy that waited for me every night
with a blanket, a beer and a movie,
he fucking got my heart,
he warmed it,
he kept it,
he cared for it
until he didn’t anymore
but why?
He changed
’cause I was not “that kind of girl”
what we had was not suppose to be everlasting
it was a “summer love”
‘cause I was not “that kind of girl”
and again,
I thought I was going to die,
but guess what?
I didn’t.
So I just kept dating this new
amazing gentleman, Spanish-speaking
blanquito from Baltimore, rich kid,
rebel because of the sake of it,
drug dealer
who convinced me into have unprotected sex
biggest mistake EVER!
I got a STD
‘cause I was not the only one like he said
but still I forgave him
’cause I was stupid
and he was the sweetest
every time he showed up at the Dominican’s party
and called me his novia in front of all of them,
I cheated myself trying to believe these awful lies
and melting every time he spoke Spanish,
he didn’t care, of course,
but he was a damn good pretender.
Ten days left for me to go back home,
Last goodbye party at some friend’s house,
people from my job,
some other guys that I didn’t know,
a few tequila shots
and I felt the hand of this nasty old dude,
ex work partner
spanking my ass under my skirt.
I felt dizzy, numb, nasty,
luckily my Ukrainian friends
throw him out of the party.
Same party,
three bong inhalations later,
and this was my fault.
Another guy forced me
into having sex with him,
I’m numb but I know I don’t want to
and all I can reply is
“Not now, not now! please!”
I’m too drunk and stoned
to fight him physically
“Not now, not now! please!”
I must have repeated this over a million times.
I won,
“Well, maybe I don’t want to do it later” he said
then left, I am relieved,
but still I cry.
America the land of freedom
you big piece of shit!
All I can remember
is waking up at 6 a.m. hugging a guy
who helped me the night before,
it was strange,
I walked my way back “home”
with the sunlight in my wasted face,
showing the world my hungover being,
it was strange,
like the last five months in this country.
One day I left all this behind.
I thought I was going to die
but guess what?
I didn’t.

Copyright 2016 Malika Hadid.
Malika Hadid, born in 1990, is a Dominican writer. She started writing at a young age of 15, standing out later in erotic poetry. She has never published formally before. Malika Hadid is actually a pseudonym. Lives in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.