Years of patriarchal trauma and guilt
bitterness filling the vessel
constantly sinking the feeling
of trying to call out for help.
The burden of washing down your sentiments
chewing every bit of your self-respect
to make way for more
unwanted-masculine ‘direction’ and ‘opinions’.
When you fill a room with unsolicited
and regressive views and philosophies,
things at one point begin
to seep out on their own;
forming mean, unacceptable words
that can easily wreck familial chords.
The outer wall of your
gorgeous-looking living room
in a two-bedroom apartment
may take your breath away
because of those glossy,
plastered aesthetics.
But what do you know
about the seepage
inside every minute
of the day and month and years
of endless bickering,
and fights,
and oppression
that one endures
without trying to look closely
at those tinted yellow spots
or at the black scars that cry for help?
Deepshikha Deb
A dumpling-lover and storyteller who loves Tilda Swinton. I have always been a ‘blahcksheep.’ I can’t expressly point out why, but I have always felt like I don’t fit into any sort of societal norms or restrictions. My thoughts are mostly scattershot in a world that is always looking for cohesiveness. My random and abstract outlook might not be a standout but it is always different.
