Fiction & Poetry
…what is there to misunderstand
about hands that take without asking,
about silence twisted into consent
by those who have never had to be afraid?
Aria walked into her school’s auditorium, giggling with the rest of the girls, because they were about to have their very first Sex Ed workshop.
It’s clear Ms. Nisha is not here to shame them or lecture them. She’s here to give them words when they have none.
We spoke about everything and nothing at once, her presence like a balm to an ache I hadn’t realised I carried.
That little baby born in spring,
Shall “he” identify as Queer?
Regardless, Polaris feels queer!
Do you know what it feels like to be seen? I also don’t know what it feels like to be properly heard, but that’s a question for another time.
The morning was heavy, laden with the weight of expectation, with the unsettling realisation that something was about to shift.
I always thought I’d get married in a white mekhla-sador, the paht soft and warming, so in cool weather please.
We carve strangers’ words onto our skin
like tattoos to be flaunted while hiding away
everything that we are from within.
हमें नहीं बनना महान
हमें इंसान ही रहने दो।
The bathroom stall becomes a sanctuary, a stage, a confession booth.
To be a gentle / friendship breaker for S. To be // a candle-lit confetti apology for S.