By You told me that every fight must be loud and passionate.
You told me I have to suffocate to experience true love.
You told me if I say “No,” and he grabs me back, it’s because he loves me.
You told me I am not good enough unless my skin is white and my hair is long.
You told me my hips need to sway, but not too much—just the right amount.
You told me to let it go, no reason to upset him—don’t be a nag.
You told me I need to be cultured, but a little bit of a sexual tease.
You told me I have to scream to be heard.
You told me only when I hurt so deep in my body am I worthy of his love.
You told me I have to be smart, but make him think everything is his idea.
You told me if he is jealous, it is because his love for me consumes his soul.
You told me I should be lucky for him to even look at me, lucky to be chased.
You told me my wedding day is the single most important moment in my life.
You told me that if a good guy comes, don’t let him go because it’s my only shot.
You told me that when I lower my gaze, his gaze onto me becomes stronger.
You told me if I cry, it is because I am confused—weak and emotional.
You told me my family isn’t good enough and must go above and beyond to please his.
You told me that I must always compromise no matter what the cost.
You told me all girls change and be everything he could ever want just to keep him.
You told me that I am flawed, and only with a man can I become perfect.
You told me if he ever hit me, I did something wrong.
You told me if he ever hit me, I did something wrong.
You told me if he ever hit me, I did something wrong.
You told me I am the problem, because he could never be.
No, Bollywood. The curtain has been lifted. I know real love and this isn’t it.
This poem is for every woman that felt a part of herself in even one of these lines. You are worthy. You are enough. Your voice matters.