a prose

my daddy is not…

i mean,

my father is not…

not a name that sits like a wafer on my tongue. not a friend to me or anyone else; enjoys life inside his shell. not welcoming to truths that are not his; is more fond of the word liar. not the warden but not a prisoner either, but the architect of what holds me captive. not willing to abandon what is his, and we are his. not…



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Zaria Rashay

Zaria Rashay

She is a writer whose work revolves around living with one’s trauma and mental illness in a black queer body. IG @ ZariaRashay