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Photo taken at Plitvice National Park, Croatia by Vibhor Dhote Oh! What are these days I have found myself in! The bagpacks I carry n...

Thursday, May 19, 2016

My First Swimming Lesson

I found it strange
how men swam in the pool
without seeming to feel
even a tad bit uneasy
about their less than perfect bodies,
hairy,
dark,
with proud paunches
wearing a swimsuit
that was nothing more than a boxer
While I,
Another Imperfect Woman,
Shivered in my suit,
Wondering if more than my contours were visible,
Even though it was dark,
Even though the swimsuit covered
what's "necessary to cover".


My first swimming lesson
And instead of feeling proud
for having dared,
for having tried,
A Million Thoughts
crossed my fearful mind.


The fat belly.
The fat arms.
Hairy armpits.
Sunburns.
Chlorine.
Shape.
Shame.


Thighs too flabby.
Hips too large.
Hold your breath.
Keep your head down.
Pull the suit's edges
Let it cover some more skin.
I need to wax.
I need to look thin.


My first swimming lesson
And before feeling
the fear of water
I felt shame.


And if perfection is the need
only for women.
Oh, I tell you, it's a disease
that brings nothing but shame.


So, as my feet touched the water beneath,
To kill the shame, to feel free
I realized what I really, really need.
I needed not to burn calories,
Nor a little waxing.
All I really needed
Was to not think.

Courtesy: Pinterest

Friday, May 6, 2016

Masks

(Because everyone around us pretends to be someone they are not and, maybe, so do we. 
Maybe the person you truly are is only when you're all by yourself.)



I hope it's you
The face you show me every morning,
For I have torn masks before,
I have detached pretty pink masks from dark red faces,
I have burned those wooden masks so that they can
Reflect the faces they hide.

They don't.

They veil a different anatomy altogether,
A face that only a mother could truly love,
A face that would push me to trauma for a few months,
A face that brings along depression and loneliness.
I have fancied those faces would one day turn white,
Or a lighter shade of grey or blue.

They don't.

They bathe with blood every night I kiss them goodnight.
They have bathed in the blood they stole from someone else alike.
Every time I pull out such masks
Stuck to their skin
Knowing not the thin boundaries
For they have, over the time, erased,
A part of me dies for ever.
I fancy that they would return someday
Digging graves for their fancy masks.

They don’t.

Every morning I wait
While I see prettier masks, coloured yellow and peach,
Hiding the red, the dark grey and the green.
I hope it's you
As I touch your face,
My fingers searching for boundaries made.
I fail to find the thin lines on your face,
I hope they are wrinkles of the man I date.
You steal a kiss and I check if it's blood on your lips,

I can't find signs of your mask, so I wear one instead.