By Riya Dey

Mimeomia (n):  the frustration of knowing how easily you fit into a stereotype, even if you never intended to, even if it’s unfair, even if everyone else feels the same way—each of us trick-or-treating for money and respect and attention, wearing a safe and predictable costume because we’re tired of answering the question, “What are you supposed to be?”

It is weird isn't it

That all these girls

In their dainty dresses

And heads drugged

With the nicotine

Carrying love

Giggle and tease each other

How that guy was looking 

So longingly at one of them

One even starts building

Castles in the air

About this guy she met

At the newly opened café

No it isn't anguishing

That they talk of guys

No, not at all.

It is a matter of anguish

That they talk only

Of guys

'Cause if you notice

One of them is very quiet

And is looking at another girl

A stranger, sitting opposite to them,

With unspoken longing.

That young man

In his office cubicle,

Smiles politely 

At his colleague talking about

The lady he is getting engaged to 

But looking at the side cubicle he sighs

The man he loves, he shall never be able

To marry.

Hence I wonder

If it's written somewhere

In the papery constitutions

Of our pasts

That love is a potion

Locked in bottles

Labeled, to be drunk by males

And the after effects include

Falling blind for girls

And does this go

Vice versa, for the

Ladies out there too?

This question thus settles

Deep inside somewhere

In my heart, like an itch uncured

And this, demands an answer


  • lovely, my little sunbird! :D

    Aradhana Dwivedi
  • Thank you so much!

    Riya Dey
  • Proud of you girl ❤ too good.

  • beautiful

    Priyanshi Ahuja
  • Short, simple and melancholic; captures the queer imagination of our times so well!


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