I want to see… 

​I see..

Your long tresses,

Smelling of that strawberry shampoo

Which you hate

For,  you prefer a bob

And messy buns

Over a well combed hairdo.
I see…

You grab that scarf

As you leave the house

Despite the scorching heat outdoors.

Though  you love the sun

You hate the tan

Only because people judge you

Over your wheatish skin.
I see…

You stack your rackets

In the deepest corner of the attic

Never to take them out again.

For the boys leered

And the aunties jeered

At your bodies despite your brilliant game.
I see…

You wear that apron

Reluctantly

The burn marks and the knife cuts

Learning how to cook

Because you are supposed to

Whether you like it or not.
I see…

You spend the weekend

At the salon

Grooming yourself to be termed

Beautiful by someone else

Rather than reading that thriller

You couldn’t keep down.
I see…

You struggle in that gown

And the heels and the makeup

Trying to breathe in

That muffin top

To stop people from

Pointing it out.
I see…

You mold to the wants

Of the people around you.

Not heeding to

What you actually need.

And it will be that way

Till you bend and eventually break.
So…

I want to see you

Donning that bob

Flaunting that tan

As you play tennis.

Eating ready-to-eat meals

Not bothering about waxed legs

And the snuggly pajamas.

I want to see you 

Be yourself. 

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