The Scars

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It's Her, And she is scarred. 
Behind the perfectly curated smiles, 
Adored for the polite denials she makes, 
As if uttering a blunt "No" Is a sin. 
She was told so 
Right from the beginning
When her feet were little, 
And her bones were brittle, 
She was told
To nod her head 
In Acceptance
It should always be a Yes
With a smile decently faked
After all, the world shouldn't know
It was ingrained
So much so that the guilt trips
For every No she said 
For every stand she took
She isn't the good kind anymore
Nor the obedient one
For she was told 
All it takes her to live an admirable life
Is to be good and obedient
And Nothing else. 
Each time she stood her ground, 
Oh this is not expected of her
Like Ever. 
How dare she talk back! 
How dare she deny what's offered! 
How dare she choose on her own! 
What will the world think! 
Honestly, it doesn't matter. 
For every word she takes, 
A nasty scar it makes. 
She had been scarred
And she very well know she will be. 
It doesn't matter anymore. 
It doesn't matter as she takes pride in her scars. 
And those scars have become her identity now. 

Comments

Anonymous said…
Entha feel ayyi rasaro aartam aavutundi, one fine day your blog will become sensation
27 July 2023 at 18:14
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