I

as the woman

I

am yet to be.

I

with the sun-kissed

soil skin

owe

you

not my story

not my rage

cooled over

and

spooned

into

Tupperware container.

Not the rains in my country

Not the palm trees not the elephants

Not the green not the glow

You

tried so hard to

suck out.

I

brown

I

Indian

I

from a line of

women

who birth

resistance

by way

of

tradition

I

owe you

nothing

at

all.

 

 

 

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