“I look down and this little girl with her swollen face and puffy eyes from crying all night asks me, why do earthquakes happen?
Why would the earth, set to destroy the civilisation it set up with it’s own hand, so mercilessly?
And I whisper in her ears, this isn’t destruction, honey.
This is purging.
The earth shakes itself up after such a century of abuse at the hands of the same people who she loved.
This isn’t destruction.
This is the earth waking up.
This is the earth standing up for itself after a long long time of carrying around bleeding hurt in its blood and the names of her lovers etched into her skin.
This is the earth looking us in the eye and telling us, even unbound love has its limits. This is the earth telling us to fuck off.
You aren’t too different from the earth, child.
Perhaps no little girl is.
Your face is cracked under the burden of having lovers tell you when to eat and who to talk to. Your nails are like grindstones, broken at their edges every time you dug them into the bedpost crying for your lover to stop mocking you for your meekness.
Your eyes are dark under the smouldering orbs in your iris, and they have cried too many lonely nights when you sat up with cramps in your abdomen and pain in your heart, and he wasn’t there for you.
There has to be an end to it all, don’t you think?
There will come a time when you grow up, and when you do, you’ll realise you’re not the person he made you think you are.
That you don’t dress and walk the way he wants you to. And that will infuriate him.
He’ll abuse you more.
But you will fight back. Maybe now you’re just terrified of the thought, but trust me, someday you will.
Someday the hurt will outweigh the fear of being unloved, and you will turn to yourself to pamper your soul. You will rearrange the crust of your being, and shake off all the monuments that he built around you to cage your spirit.
You’ll be an earthquake someday, child.
And trust me, it’ll be beautiful.