Peace Corps girls are not like other girls.
We fight for our smiles.
When we say 'salam aalakum'
there is no conference of Peace or good tidings,
rather it is returned with malice and shame.
The forgiveness in our heart dies,
and I see the anger in your eyes
that used to sparkle
refuse to cry.
Because if we cried over every hurt
that performing goal one, goal two, goal three
produced with community mapping, camps, clubs, and classes
we wouldn't stop.
And my tears wouldn't reach your tears or her tears or anybody's tears
because this is a self-selected sadness that shrouds us in loneliness.
And our homes have become our prisons,
and our dreams a mockery
and I sit in my house wondering how long can I survive off this one egg?
How long can I survive off this broken promise of change?
How long is too long? How much is too much?
Peace Corps girls are not like other girls.
We fight to not become broken.
I see you struggling.
I see how hard you've become.
I see how you don't trust me anymore.
I place my hand on your heart and the ice chills me.
I feel your fingers pull my hair and I know you don't mean it.
(You could never mean it and moosoomaha)
I see you walking with your head down because heaven forbid you assert yourself.
I see you waiting for your husband to be ready because heaven forbid you show yourself as unwed.
That you've selected Medevac because you're *this close*
to shattering.
But you still hope to put on an amazing program for your dar chebab
with no clue how. with no money. with no counterpart. with nothing but the desire
to make a difference,
to make the sacrifice worth it,
for a split second of joy
even if it's for someone else.
