Witness by Abdulmugheeth Petersen

I used to think that I understood your pain

Because I understood the sharp heat

Of a masala-steak gatsby, drenched in Peri-Peri sauce:

A self-inflicted, cosmetic pain that lasted

For 15 minutes while my body tried to doused the fire

Fighting it in all the ways it knew how.

Harmless, undocumented and undiagnosed.

I understood this periodic, optional, over-the-counter

Pain

And so I used to think I understood yours.

I used to think that I understood your discomfort

Because I understood the other-worldliness of walking through a Capetonian rainstorm

Until clothes were plastered to body

And I needed to peel it off like a layer of burnt skin

And then be relieved by a scalding shower

And powder-dry towels.

I understood this changeable, thrilling, thunderclap

Discomfort

And so I used to claim I understood yours.

Until I climbed into your skin

Walked around in your world for a while

And looked at your life from your window;

Trapped inside, while the water ran rivulets

Down the outside of the glass

Mocking that false sanctuary.

I understood my own privilege then.

I saw then that

All the while you saw no end to your pain

And that there was no haven to flee towards.

You tried pulling back your own skin

Because you were always in wet clothes.

You always longed to dance in the drizzle

Yet the storm never passed.

Abdulmugheeth Petersen is passionate about language, culture and social justice. He teaches High School English and is chairperson of a faith-based LGBT+ Organisation. Much of Abdulmugheeth's writing reflects his experiences as a young muslim gay man. He enjoys hiking and running, and consuming movies, books and too many cat videos with his partner. They live in Johannesburg, South Africa.