Before it happened,
I raised my voice and fought with you,
So you wouldn’t get into the elevator with me.
I went in alone,
And you pushed the door and came in,
And reached out and touched me.

When I first started wearing those pants,
The way people looked at me changed.

“The best thing about you is your tan,” he’d always tell me.
“What tan?” I’d laugh, “I am as dark as chocolate.”
“And I’m crazy about chocolate” he’d respond adoringly.

“Don’t listen to him.
Your body is not defined by kilograms and centimeters.
Your body does not define you.
You’re beautiful.
You’re more beautiful than you and others think.
You’re talented and smart.
Your value is not determined by a number on a scale or by your clothing size.”

I never ran or even moved from my place.
I remember really well,
When I’d run up the stairs,
Or run in Agamy market.

I could never forget,
How in the midst of the screams, beatings, killing,
The fires and tear gas in Tahrir,
I felt your hand violating me.

“When I told my friends that you refused to hold my hand they asked me why I was still with you.”
“Then leave!” I exclaimed.

All I remember is that I couldn’t stop crying,
As she kept cutting my hair shorter and shorter.
I used to believe that the essence of beauty lied in having long hair.
The longer your hair gets, the more beautiful you become.