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My Heart

 


My therapist told me I have a big heart. 

Little did she know that how crowded it is. 

How there is not enough space for another sane idea. 

It seems that the weeds are having a good time here, 

Feeding on the garbage around, 

Dancing at the wreckage of walls. 

There are rooms with sad songs that are played on loop, 

Rooms with multi-storage facilities for miscellaneous memories, 

The congested small ones have the happy pieces of cakes, 

With donuts and cupcakes served alongside. 

Just because I don't know how to flirt, 

There are rooms where I have locked up my crushes,

in the very posture, I want to imagine them, 

It's funny how they are thinking of their actual lovers. 

The huge pool with waters from the leaking walls are stored, 

Sometimes gets gory with less amount of attention. 

I also have wetlands where some dear ones from the past, 

Struggle in the poison of patriarchy and misogyny, 

To which I don't give a damn. 

The flowers in the garden are dried out, 

The games are all rugged, 

And the kitchen smells so bad with fungus and rotten food. 

Now you know why the weeds love here, 

They have a huge family,

And there is hardly any room for any pleasant inmates. 

My therapist says, 

Once all these are cleared out, 

I'm going to be okay

And I think so. 


A. C


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