(Amma - mother)

Amma always told me
that she wanted the girl
across the street/the girl in
my class scoring a 100/the girl
nestled amidst the elite in top
ranking, mind-wrecking schools/
as her daughter

she never called me by my name. 

on days when calm blood ran in her knotted
nerves, she'd call me 'aye' and call me 'oh'.
other days I pray that my language fails me.
my ears are used to curses, now a mere
pinprick against the scrapped,
bleeding canvas
of my heart.

i wonder who named me. maybe
the society. they've been poking pain
into families for decades, haven't they?
i'm faceless until the grades turn A, and
anything less would ensure my invisibility.

why cry when no one hears?

girl, my age. living life with triple digits
ruling over her identity. if her name has
anything more than 'pretty, smart, elite',
it'll be a societal surprise. she's a
caricature inspiration. another drawing
of a child that a parent hangs up in their lonely
minds of over-dreamt nights and lonely mornings.

lonely, calm mornings. another aye and oh.

i wonder if i'm a daughter. my emotions
have long been orphaned.
a crying child needs no love.
i etch it across my tear-stained cheeks and
smile before washing dishes. another day
of leftovers rotting without a fridge.
furniture got us a couple hundred for next
week. groceries are leafy. watery things
for three days in a row.

All i see is water boiling and wonder
if the girl across the street/in my class
has had days of gut-wrenching pain
and leaking pen refills in order for her
to stand bathed in pain and smile

so her Amma can say that she's a daughter
she'll embrace.