They always told me: you grow up and forget.

When I fell and bruised my eyebrow,
When the math teacher made me stand facing the wall because I forgot 7 × 6 = 42.
When my bicycle broke and they didn't buy me another one to avoid breaking it again.

When the bottle of my soul broke, when my parents died, and when I did not die.
When the world was too much and I was alone.
When my brother slaughtered my doll because “Barbie” is forbidden, and erased “Space Toon” because “Pokemon” is forbidden.

When he removed my parents' picture from the frame and buried it in the broken drawer to not drive the angels away.
When the cracks in the walls filled with demons.
When I was forced to join the girls' college to preserve my chastity.
When he offered me to his friend for marriage, to preserve my chastity.

When I tore the covers of my books to protect them from burning.
When I wrote my first poem on the bottom of a tissue box, shaking with fear.
When he pulled my headscarf at my first poetry morning.
When he finally slapped me, they all said: you grow up and forget.

The problem is that I grew up and did not forget,
I grew up and forgot to forget.