A Man’s Space

I used to try on my father’s clothes.

His attire never seemed to fit me,

in his eyes anyway.

I felt the emptiness in his 

work shirt,

envying how it compared to my shoes.

Leather and sole,

tightening its hold as if it were

pinning my feet to the floor.

My father could grow so tall

the roof would creak

as he leant his back against it. 

I sucked in my stomach

but never protested. How could I

ask for more space than what he 

had offered? He had gotten so big, 

there was no room for my vocal cords. 

So he ripped them out.

The pockets of air in his shirt

became a cold comfort.

Yet I wondered,

if I could stretch my skin

and blow up like a balloon,

could I fill a man’s space too?

I could take my mother’s hand,

tell her we need to leave.

Father takes up too much room now.

Growth has left little of me.

A pair of eyes 

and a crooked tooth.

But my body still aches

to spread my arms 

and fill my father’s clothes.

To occupy a space he didn’t 

squeeze me into.

To stand beside not behind a man.

Someday I will no longer cower

before the men who forced their way

inside my skull

and scrubbed with soapy water.

Maybe I will learn that air

is a grateful reminder of my place

when I feel constricted.

That my space extends to the clouds;

and even further. 

Mallika Khan is a 22 year-old queer Pakistani poet and artist based in Bristol. They study Psychology with Criminology at the University of the West of England. They believe that where sorrow lies, resilience and strength is always there too; and this is the main focus of their work. Mallika’s poetry has received recognition from Brain Mill Press, The Survivor's Zine and BreakBread Magazine. More information on Mallika’s work can be found on their website at: https://mallikakhan.wixsite.com/studio.