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Reflections

Writer: Archisha Sharma Archisha Sharma

Now when a boy calls me pretty

i don't do the usual;

neither do i smile

nor do i treasure the compliment

in my long term memory

all i do is

walk to the nearest mirror

caress my face

touching every inch

of imperfections, you saw in me.

I stand rigid

with a deja vu of our mirror selfie

undeleted from my calloused heart

recalling from where it all started

the day you called me pretty

remove the 'r' and thats me today

petty; as i seem to you.

my lip you tasted, is placed like a concave curve on a torn graph that is my face

devoid of flush, that crimson flush, when you held me for the first time in your arms

which felt heavy on my fragile body

for which i didn't complain about

and you walked away so easily.

to her.

your kisses have turned into bruises

etched like invisible tattoos on my

skin

my heart aches, reminding me that

beauty is more relative than subjective.

I have turned into this mama gothel

devoid of Rapunzel's hair.

and i hope you leave love marks lighter

on her skin

so she forgets the sinner as well as the sin.

something not so akin.

to me.




 
 
 

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