When you first hear about it, domestic violence almost seems affiliated to only heterosexual relationships, where the man physically, emotionally and psychologically inflicts pain on his wife. Never the less, domestic violence too occurs in same sex relationships; patriarchy too exists in these relationships.
When I got into university, I was desperate to find out if anyone in the universe felt the same about women like I did, I needed to be sure someone could find love in my warm heart. I met this dark and beautiful woman whose lips made my eyes swirl. She is the only woman who made my wide eyes shrink romantically like I was in that noble moment of adoration.
She was a classic devil; no sinner resisted dealing with her. I drew plans and gave myself timelines on how to clearly lay a trap for her. I was not alone, even the guys too; their penises saluted to her sight. She is the reason I had a retake in one of my exams, the very first year of my university; devil indeed!
She was pretty; I longed to have her on my chest and play with her nipples like a guitar, strain her cheeks with my teeth like a guitar’s strings. I longed to pass my fingers through her thick hair, caressing her head like I was playing a key board. I loved the sound of her voice; it soothed my heart and threw my muscle tones into vibration. I knew I needed to blow my breath through her mouth and make her gasp for air like I was playing a saxophone.
I needed to play her like my own music instrument, sound her like a melody and dance to her tune. She is the woman whose games run 4 rounds. I always got lost in her chest and wrapped her apples around my neck only to realize it was morning.
This dark Sunday morning, I woke up with a lot of love, I tried to push her to letting me explore her body, she resisted. I was too dull to see that she had had mood swings over her unexpected monthly flow. My mind run to thinking she must have cheated on me; the usual stereotype talk men will always say about women. Out of stupidity which I sugar coated as anger, I covered her with several slaps whose magnitude were equivalent to the horn I carried. She didn’t know I had the devil part in me. She was too shocked to cry but the embarrassment couldn’t save her eyes’ juice. Like any other “man”, I paused and banged the door. I was guilty but was just trying.
As I walked away my hands trembled, my knees danced, my weight became too heavy for my feet. I sat down; trying to catch some air. I remembered how often my arms held her like a guitar, now my arms energized my hands to act in hurting her. The hands that caressed her like a key board implemented the hurting act. My hands that ran through her hair slapped her painfully. My heart that longed for her, pumped blood to letting me do it. My brain was far away because it came back after the act. The melody she sounded for me turned to a scream and alarm.
The guilt that covered me washed me like the Halloween. I wanted to apologize but she couldn’t take my words. No amount of tears could let her understand how stupid I had become. She was too hurt to forgive; I had lost the woman I loved.
Patriarchy is usually for men but sometimes women too especially in same sex relationships suffer to it. Transgender men and transgender women too are susceptible to this infection. They sometimes suffer at the hands of being loyal to their partners.
Concept adopted from Shivan Pavin’s Engalabi song.