I swear sometimes–my rebel mind;
Will show me to my fall
i hate everything I am supposed to be
I wouldn’t be good for spite of it all
The perfect mother. The perfect maid.
Stays at home with her children late.
Never complains, never raises her voice
She is the wife of my parent’s choice
“You need to cook. You need to clean.
Sixteen and you don’t know a thing!
Were you in India, as you were born,
you would be an embarrassment to your family.”
I answer to no one; I answer for myself!
To hell with society! To hell with the norm!
To hell with the gender role;
I make my own!
Stuck between American and Indian
“This is not suitable. You are an Indian!”
“But I am American too–am I not?”
“Indian comes first.”
I love my culture and my homeland
But it does not hold me hostage.
So what if I hail to it?
I won’t conform for it.
Dresses modestly. Never stands up for herself.
Speaks carefully, tripping over every word
Unsure, unworthy, uncertain of her fate
She would kill me if I would secede or lose my un-heavenly gait
So I sit awake
Every night and every day
I look up at the stars, the sun
And whisper to myself, “Is it done?”
But it never is
Nor would it ever be
I am still a mystery
To myself, it seems
I would care to regale
In glory, smile for myself
Because I want to know
That I am worthy
But the tug of war
Ends not, wants not.
Who am I to decide,
Whether my Soul will rot and die?
Obviously I lie in the hands
Of the wretched society
It is only she that bends me,
That breaks me; makes me, me
How can I have a voice for myself?
How can I hope for my own fate?
If I try to take control
I only wind up in hate
So ever will I remain
Unsure. Uncertain. Unworthy.
Struggling for my voice, my future
Struggling yet against me.