A love letter to my worries

It makes sense why you hold onto me so tight.

For so many brown-faced men,

violated my body’s rights

in moments when I was in my truest expression

my innocence, my playfulness, chasing my joy, happy even.

These assaults were so perfectly timed as crude and forceful reminders

for me to better not be at ease, ever, for taking birth in a woman’s body.

It makes sense, worry why you keep my body

in a state of panic all the time.

This desi colored pink tax - a birthday gift to

every woman that walks Bharat’s land

with deposits made before the age

she even knows her own pronoun.

It makes sense why you are here so often and loud.

It makes sense why to you men are alarming, people unsafe.

It all makes sense.

And you can stay for as long as you need.

Come as often as you need.

You have served me, protected me.

And now as I aim to thrive and fly high into the sky

In your clinging to me, I hug me back harder.

In your distress, I remind my body to breathe self love.

I am grateful for you my worry

for everytime you come,

you strengthen my resolve to

make all of me radically untamed.

Pic from Pixabay