A letter

Fahmida Azad

Fahmida is a Bangladeshi-American designer and writer living in Copenhagen by way of New York City. She blends poetry and prose in her work and believes poetry is everything that makes you feel, often connecting you to moments and memories that may not be yours. She is an avid reader of fiction and spends her free time cultivating spaces for connection and creativity – usually through hosting open mics focused on racialized and minoritized individuals in Copenhagen.

A letter

I love women.

I love her flesh

I love her skin

I love her nerves

I love her pulses,

Her rhythms and beats

I scrape the walls of her body

I claw at her head

I seep into her limbs

I tear her cells

Creep inside

The in-between spaces

Until she loses herself

Inside Me

Everything disappears inside

A pitch

A steady screech

Where nothing else exists

And I grow

And I flare

And I expand

We become intertwined.

I am her and she is me.

Sleepless nights, eyes wide

Open, Her trying

To get rid of me

We both know though

It’s better if she doesn’t

Resist

She must

Host me

Serve me

Feel me

Until I’m done

She tells people that I’m real

They tell her I’m not

And this is all I need.

I need people to not believe her

And isn’t this the easiest

Thing in the world?

I tried to love men, but

Most men end up telling on me

And people believe him

They do their best

To get rid of me

They seem to care more about him

I can’t count on him

With her

I can stay.

And

As long as people keep

Telling her I’m not real

I am free to flourish

This is precisely why

I love women.

Yours,

Chronic Pain