[When a researcher asked a sex worker why she keeps going back to her abusive pimp, she said, “Apa, shobaytoh ekta moner manush chai…”]

I love you my Valentine

Even when you forced yourself onto me

Drunk, belligerent, you could not see

That it was that time of the month

And I was bleeding profusely.

While you smothered me with your cheap whiskey breath

Shoving, pushig, harder, rougher

All I could think about was that thin line between life and death

For if this is love, what then is hate?

Both four letter words, both emotions, driven by destiny and fate.

I love you my Valentine

Even when you repeatedly called me a whore

At home, the restaurant, friends’ houses, parking lots and stores.

Every discussion, every conversation, every moment

Turned into settling scores

Of what you expected, wanted and got

Words that shatter dreams and bones

I held on to you and for us I fought

While the person I once was kept getting lost

In your broken promises and hollow words

Turning all that we once had to distant memories and ghosts.

I held on to you my Valentine

And all your injustices and crimes

Because they made me believe my life had no meaning without you

And that you always be mine

To love, to hold, to be true.

I held on to you my Valentine

And covered up all your injustices and crimes

Because the fear of being alone was scarier than loneliness itself

An illusion created by prying eyes and hearts of vile.

They will never be there during times of sorrow

The whiskey-breath "loving" rape

The proclamation of the whore

They will never help me to face tomorrow.

They will judge, they will advise, telling me to take the sores

Whatever were we women for

If not a little hurt, a little black and blue behind closed doors?