Freedom is a lady

The first time I suspected freedom was a lady was when a man rapped me

I was naked

Tired of screaming

Tied to a bed

Figuring out how to smile tomorrow

That day I understood suffering, and what it was to hate yourself

I hated myself because I wittnessd how my freedom was being taken away from me, and did nothing

Because yes, before that day freedom was mine. I was just not aware she was the one allowing me to fulfill my desires

She drove me to the beach, she got me into a plane to the other side of the world and she allowed me to leave a party at night without fear

But the night of the abuse, crying my self to sleep, I saw her walk out the door. Knowing I had lost her, but hoping that her absence wasn’t permanent.

Since that day, I started to long being free

Free of that burden, of the secrets, and some nights… free of myself

I began flirting with freedom when I contemplated speaking out about the abuse

I was there, chained to my desire to please

Wishing i was brave enough to ask freedom out

Standing there

Looking at her from across the room

Making me weak on the knees

She was so vibrant, calling for people to get close to her fire

But yet, circumstances made her seem so unattainable

In other occasion, I wittnessed how she was taken away from people she loved

like when a Sri Lankan mother told me she wanted her daughter to study, that day freedom ran through her face in the form of a tear

Or when I heard my hairdresser say “My dream was to be a ballerina, but my husband didn’t agree”

But the day I finally confirmed freedom is a lady was when I saw myself in the mirror and asked... Why is freedom so hard to get?

And in return, my reflection whispered the answer

You are freedom

That day, a whole other battle started

The one where I set freedom free