Of words

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

some words originate farther than others, from behind walls or fortresses where from any vulnerability they're kept safe and shuttered, at times the mind is complicit in this self-protection, intrinsic to the pained, learned like blinking is an autonomic mechanism, not a point of contention or blame, but rather quite quickly it lets one be complacent and unchanged, assuming how things are, is how things should stay. maybe being male has a lot to do with the matter, at least for one who tries not to care what societal rules tell him he should be after, but certainly for a woman, the stigma runs deeper than the thickest of skin, dealing with emotional consequences on the daily in perhaps every one of their personal instances. couldn't also deny that i've kept relatively free and apart from such circles, of those who seek affirmation or mingling with the likeminded to remind their selves they're worthwhile, and for sure society lets men have their batcaves and quirks and rituals, but conformity gets especially stamped on women as if they were only ever mothers, or things dictated by the content of their genes or figures. 

though this dunya i can't change, can't alter its modes of oppression and doubt and circumvention, in this particular moment, the first thing i'd choose is to be your shield, so easily ourselves were expressed and beneath it revealed, without fear or judgment or denial of what's real. but for the vast periods of apartness, when words and trials can't be known or made a part of, i hope you remember always the chase of a place and goal far greater than the present and part of its cost: knowing how to keep changing for the better.