Poem: My femininity is fierce. But my femininity is also delicate. My femininity puts on blush because it doesn’t care what the boy next door will think. But my femininity also longs for the natural blush which adorns her cheeks inevitably as soon as the man she loves looks at her.

From the time we are little, we are told how to talk. How to run how to stoop, how to trot how to walk, When we resist, we are told to stop and not swirl. Oh, is it what it means to be a girl?

Poem: Truth is sorry for being born, and slightly judgemental for having the spine. A silent sufferer too in the crowd while honesty weeps beside till dawn. The era of sky-high morals has left the building.

Strength may also look like, slight smiles on days when lips refuse to curl. Tiny attempts, while toes refuse to budge. Lazy mornings and laidback evenings, reaching out for bits of joy, and tiny pleasures.

In your eyes, my parents are less than yours are. In spite of these years, we have not come together very far. I have very few days to see mine. While you have many and this to you seems just fine.