Somethings cannot be written

Episode two: Love yours This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bintaisha.substack.com This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bintaisha.substack.com

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bintaisha.substack.com This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bintaisha.substack.com

They never told us that adulthood is not just bills stacked on the counter or taxes eating away at the little we make. They never told us that adulthood means carrying your child-self on your back, whispering to her when she cries, feeding her when she feels unloved, teaching her how to trust when she is still afraid. They never told us that adulthood means learning how to sit with the teenager inside you, too, the one who knows only rage, who screams when silenced, who rolls her eyes at every betrayal, who wants to fight but also just wants to be held.No one prepared us for this balancing act, parent and child, guide and rebel, healer and wounded, all housed in one body that still has to wake up for work in the morning. We stumble. We circle. We burn out. We confuse exhaustion for healing because the crash feels like peace. We call it wellness, but it is simply survival dressed in softer clothes.We begged for blessings. We prayed until our knees ached, until our throats ran dry with supplications, until silence itself began to sound like faith. And when God poured them down, generous and unrelenting, we found ourselves trembling with the weight. We complained of exhaustion, forgetting that once upon a time, this was the very season we begged for. Our mouths rant, our bones ache, but deep down we know we are living inside answered prayers we did not know how to hold.But fame? No, I do not crave it. I do not care for strangers who memorize my name or for applause that echoes hollow. I do not care to be adored for my poetry if it means losing the honesty of my vision. What I want is the view my own eyes widened, stretched, seeing life so sharply that poetry itself kneels before me, admitting it was only ever a shadow of what my gaze can hold. I want to expand my lenses until words themselves cannot contain me.And yet, I want something more. I want to live without the constant burden of being sexualized. I want to wake up and walk freely without fear stitched into every step. I do not want the hiss of catcalls thrown at me like scraps. I do not want the shadow of violence lurking simply because I am a woman. I want softness without interrogation. I want gentleness without suspicion. I want to say I am human, simply human, without the world demanding justification for why I choose to live softly.My womb is not an oven waiting for expectation. My body does not owe lineage. If generations must end with me, then so be it. But let me live free, free of patriarchy’s shackles pressing against my neck, free of being a body before I am a soul.I want to look young girls in the eyes and tell them: beauty was never his to define. It was never theirs to hold hostage. Beauty belongs to you. Beauty is not confined to patriarchy’s gaze. Beauty wears black eyeliner and lace-up boots, yes, but beauty also glows in earth-tone skirts, in braids touched by sun, in skin unafraid of scars. Beauty is a girl riding her bike fast, laughing, never explaining why the wind feels holy against her face. Beauty is calling out the man who tried to reduce you, without fear of death pressing cold lips against your neck.This is what I want: a world where we no longer measure our worth in how well we survive their cruelty. A world where rage can be language and softness can be power. A world where we can rest without defending our humanity.And maybe that is the real revolution to live fully, without apology. To rage without shame. To love our softness as rebellion. To carry our child-self, our teenage rage, our womanhood, and our dreams and still insist: I am human. I am whole. I am free.PS: My darling, you are not beholden to patriarchy. You are the beauty and beholder!Welcome to Yappers FM This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bintaisha.substack.com This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bintaisha.substack.com

I knew love had no permanence with you, and still, I laid myself bare. I stripped away all the pomp and color I presented to the world, washed off the facade just to let you in.Love, after all, is no stranger to endings.You will love with all the galaxies inside you. But when the tides shift and love leaves, a part of you will die. Each day becomes a small funeral for the dreams you etched in sand. You’ll find yourself unsure how to speak about them, because even in its heartbreak, the love you shared gave you a deeper understanding of what love could be.You’ll rewrite poems in your sleep, searching for better endings. Your friends will watch you fall, again and again, until the pain becomes something that reshapes you. You’ll dismantle yourself, piece by piece, trying to make sense of memories that once felt like safety. The meals you cook will taste unfamiliar. You’ll cry over dishes. You’ll slide down the walls. The weight of it all will settle in your bones.But love doesn’t truly leave. It evolves. The echo of their laughter in your chest will make room for your own. The way they painted your world with their favorite colors? Eventually, you’ll discover new shades, ones you would have never known with them.So say goodbye, however it comes to you. Whisper it into the rain as it taps against your window. Say it with dry humor, through clenched teeth, or soaked in tears. Say it with tenderness. Say it with rage. There is no perfect way to let go, so long as you’re walking back toward yourself.You are no stranger to endings. You've walked through ruins before. You’ve held your broken heart in trembling hands. You’ve rebuilt yourself from silence. You've learned what it means to leave, even after living lifetimes inside someone else. This won't break you! It cannot.Tears will come, and they will comfort. They’ll wash away the poetry you once wove through every crevice of your love story. Oceans will call your name, because the pain is too vast for tears alone to carry it away.You’ll struggle to sleep in the bed where you once vowed forever. You’ll lie in other places just to escape the weight of their scent on your pillows. You’ll ache deeply, until you understand that the hardest journey is always the one that leads back to yourself.In time, you’ll let that love go with the change of seasons. You won’t curse their name, because love and hate cannot live in the same space. You’ll remember the way they held you in your darkest hours and how real that comfort felt. You won’t blame them for what you shared, even if it ended.so you sit with the ache,let it hum its sad melody.You call it teacher, call it mirror,call it proof of your depth,You remember that even stars dim,even oceans pull away.And love, even love,is not always a home to stay. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bintaisha.substack.com This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bintaisha.substack.com