You Should Have Asked

We talked about her—the way she dressed and the way she spoke.

We talked about her innocence while celebrating the conquests of her male companions.

We talked about her downfalls, how she steals and lies through adolescence—but never asked why.

Maybe, if you asked, she’d tell you she hides behind the dresser when he gets home. That hours pass with a book in hand until the rest of the family arrives, hoping he won’t look for her.

She’d tell you his mockery made her hold the secrets of her pain in tear-soaked pillows.

She’d tell you there are days she still views her body as her self-worth, and blames herself for the torment of others.

We tell her what we think of her size and her looks—that she exercises too much, and maybe she should just eat a burger—but we never ask why.

And maybe, if you asked, she’d tell you fitness saved her life. She’d tell you that learning her body is capable of strength instead of abuse freed her.

If you asked, she’d say that now she sees herself as more than a sexual object for your desires.

Maybe she’d tell you her passions and her dreams. And maybe, just maybe, if you asked, you’d see that her body doesn’t define her.

You’d see that curiosity is built in her bones.

That she loves animals because they listened to her heart.

She’d tell you that her favorite flower is the sunflower—because she lived in darkness for so long.

Maybe, if you stopped telling her, stopped judging her, and started asking her, you’d realize that she is capable of love, light, and laughter.