Resources Şiiri - Mahlasi Nessy

Grief that has nowhere to land.

When the world pretends to be la-la land,
my grief can’t find soil to root itself.

My feet are not enough for this kind of grief.
My body can’t contain it.

Support cut at the end.
“Wait another two years.”
“You can’t get well.”

My voice was not heard.
I screamed, yelled, and wept
behind closed doors, into pillows,
inside my own heart.

My own mum compares me to the next girl in the neighbourhood
in my most fragile moments.

My cat is sick.
I adapt minute by minute under strain.

A man my dad’s age stalks me in the building.
Another harasses me.
Touches me.

This grief has nowhere to land.