By Yashasvi Khatkar
The pompous, superfluous glow
Lathered on my face
From the wisdom of wires,
And superiority of screen,
I mindlessly continue to chase,
Has, I am afraid, tarnished the
Little girl inside me.
My mind was free as a bird,
And soul would beam with
Happiness even when not heard.
Now they both sit in some sorrowful
Chamber of my heart,
But I guess I will add another product
To my cart.
No, I don't want to chase this perfect person anymore.
I am fine with having acne,
I am fond of my smile lines,
I am fine with ageing like milk,
I don't want to age like fine wine.
The little girl in me watches in horror, as I am busy, hating my skin.
I am so sick of treating my existence as a born, forbidden sin.
Maybe I will go back to chasing
Butterflies in sun rays.
I no longer want to lather serums on serums, and wait for them to take this pain away.
I will do anything to be like the little
Girl again,
Who didn't care about having a
Bright skin,
Because she had the brightest smile.
Maybe we all are way too deep in the internet.
Let's go sit on the shore—
It's been a long, long while.