Poem : I Carry This Hurt

I carry this hurt,

in my heart, in my mind

I remember those eyes of small girl,

who looks perplexed,

when people laugh, ridicule, whisper, point and say

“Look, she is different, she is wearing boys clothes”

When I bend my head,

look at myself, I see just clothes!

But, wait, wearing boys’ clothes,

did not stop you from,

putting your hands down in my pants.

That small girl knows nothing of what happened,

she just feels disgusted,

Disgusted at those who were laughing, pointing,

have no guts to stop it,

have no faith in child’s truth,

as they believe,

difference needs to be punished,

and a child never speaks truth,

as their own kids never speak truth,

as when they were kids, they did not speak the truth.

All lies, so does everyone becomes a liar?

I carry this hurt,

in my heart, in my mind

I remember those eyes of a teenager,

still in boys clothes

facing a eminent threat to happiness,

as mother lies in hospital,

a father who does not care,

dog dies at home,

looking for friendship,

but wait, she is different,

so lets play a game,

lets lure her into a fake friendship,

and break her heart with truth

being different is unacceptable, isn’t it?

But, she stands tall,

convinces herself, there will be a better time!

I carry this hurt,

in my heart, in my mind

I remember those eyes of a girl in her early twenties,

still in boys clothes,

but, wait, now many girls wear boys clothes,

and its okay,

so now she must not be different.

but, by now, she has lost her faith,

lost her faith in friendship,

lost her faith in teachers,

lost her faith in education,

lost her faith in truth,

but, she still speaks truth,

just to get bashed by teachers, as they think everyone lies,

because they lie!

she cant laugh on idiotic jokes of teachers,

but others laugh,

so, she is again been ridiculed, laughed at, pointed at and they say

“she is different”

this time her punishment is,

FAIL on her mark-sheet.

but, she makes through just fine

may be, scarred that she is by now,

new scars looks lucrative

I carry this hurt,

in my heart, in my mind

I remember those eyes in her twenties,

mother finally dead after 11 years of fight for life,

second dog dead,

no one close enough to know what she lost,

the only silver lining in her life,

and yes, she is still in boys clothes.

hoping that things have changed,

takes a huge plunge,

but, sometimes, things never change

people never change,

nor do they care about someone so much, that loosing someone might change them.

plunge takes her into deep tunnel of darkness

her love questioned, ridiculed, pointed at and they say

“she is different, cold hearted”

as I don’t shed tears in front of you,

as you don’t care about me,

my emotions are personal

and you never took interest in any

I carry this hurt,

in my heart, in my mind

And now I stand to see light,

to see darkness,

at the same time,

connecting to all those who are “different”,

because “different” are the ones who are individuals,

who have their own mind, own thoughts,

and are not ruled by what crowd says, what religion says, what society says,

these “different” people are making life to be accepted,

individuality to celebrated,

making life of all those who ridiculed, pointed, laughed, better not worst,

as they made it for “different”

I carry this hurt,

in my heart, in my mind

And now I stand,

still in boys clothes,

scarred and bled,

with a smirk on my face,

“I am differently good,

and my different is never your business”

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Now 30, 100% shudh desi lesbian. Likes living large, and on the edge. Dislikes stagnation, fence sitting and hypocrites. Lives in a bubble of joy, with occasional lapses into drama queendom. Currently nursing a massive crush on actress Chitrangada Singh (kind of eerie, her resemblance to the late Smita Patil, don’t you think?). Aspires to build a fully functional support system for the Gaysi community in India. And most importantly, top the 'Hottest eligible desi-lezzie' list one bright sunny day.

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