I grew up and forgot to forget

They always told me: you grow up and forget. When I fell and my eyebrow was wounded, when the math teacher forced me to stand and face the wall because I forgot that 7 × 6 = 42, when my bike broke and they didn't buy me another so I wouldn't break it, when the bottle of my soul broke, when my parents died, when I didn't die, when the world was too much and I was alone, when my brother cut my doll because "Barbie" is forbidden, and the "Spacetoon" channel was shut down because "Pokémon" is forbidden, when I removed my parents' picture from the frame and buried it in the broken drawer so that the angels wouldn't be expelled, when the cracks in the walls filled with demons, when I was forced to enter the girls' college to preserve my modesty, when I was presented to a friend for marriage to preserve my modesty, when I tore the covers of my books to protect them from burning, when I wrote my first poem under a box of Kleenex trembling with fear, when I was pulled by my hijab during my first poetic morning, when I was finally slapped, they all told me: you grow up and forget. The problem is that I grew up and didn't forget, I grew up and forgot to forget.