by Anshita Singh
You mix the yellow of daffodils
With the red of strawberries
And bring with you the orange of sunset.
No ma! I don't like oranges!
You walk into the room
As if you know the 20 thousand faces
That follow you on Instagram.
You're wearing this thin stripped, bright white, no sleeve
Kinda inappropriate, kinda elegant, cheap laced, cheap stoned crop top.
Geez mom! It is 4 months to 2020; buy me a skirt already!
You walk into the room
Wearing the blue of Facebook
And the red of Netflix studded
On the shades of your eyes.
And maybe
We're dealing with expensive eyeshadows or elaborate exaggerations;
But no, this poem is not about love, lust, beauty or admiration.
Neither is it about the mean popular girls.
And it is absolutely not about my mother's raisin-sized brain.
This poem is about envy, jealousy and intimidation.
It is about how my mother taught me all of the above.
So hey there, my beautiful co-woman.
Let me start over.
You walk into the room.
I see you've let your hair drown
In the blue of the skies.
Don't worry, I've buried my mom's raisin-brain.
So you really don't have to overthink the colour.
Here, I want you to read this book called-
'Be Your Own Windkeeper'
And just so, I do want you to blow and I know you will grow.
Because you've had your hurt and I've had mine.
You've dealt with your lightning bearers
And I've had enough of the phallic shaped man cakes.
So sit, breathe, and talk to me.
And I'll tell you about everything I've learnt.
Because Monica might have not wanted crumbs spilled
But she made sure home is what you feel.
And perhaps my blood cells are struggling to keep the homeostatic.
But you see, I've learnt to make homes in the chaotic.
Well, I've learnt to find the 'lure' in failure.
I learnt that there is no perfume that smells like rain.
And apparently coffee tastes better with pain.
I've learnt that it is okay to wear the darkest lip-shades if that's how you feel.
I've learnt that if yawns are contagious then smiles can be too.
And I'll tell you about how everything is better with a flower in your hair.
But instead,
I want you to wear the exact same dress as mine.
And no! It's not about your thunder.
It is just that, I've learnt that two roses can be as beautiful as each other.
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