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Motherfucker!
That’s what I’m labelled as because I kiss girls.
I kiss girls whereas I should be kissing boys.
I hold hands with my girlfriend who is clumsy and trips on road while wearing sneakers.
Homo! Faggot!
That’s all I hear on the streets when I walk down with her.
But i want to walk down the aisle to her.
I want to say i do.

I do.
I do and I want to tell each and everyone of you that it’s okay to kiss the one you want to, just not the one your mother, your father, your best friend, your sibling, your whole fucking family, this god be damned world tells you to.
Sometimes, it’s not even the words on the street which hurt the most.
It’s my mother asking why do I have so many pictures of us together with my cat with us.
She said my girlfriend is an outsider and she should remain so.
The cat is a private property to her.

But the cat is my half soul.
The other half; my woman stirs a fire there.
So how do I tell her that it’s only me and my family in the photos which I dream of to see one day.
How do I tell her that I cry because 377 still prevails, it’s shadowy hands slowly clawing my skin,
Ripping my heart out
Blood oozing drop by drop,
Love flowing out like it shall never end.
It came to choke me.
I shall not let it win.

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Mother, how do I tell you that every night I contemplate committing suicide because the morning sun rays bring shame.
I cannot look into my own eyes every time I am applying lipstick on my lips to make them look rosy.
But my eyes are tired, mum.
I don’t know since when you started seeing a stranger in me.
So far away that you don’t see the fine lines and the dark circles under my eyes from staying up all night and thinking how to carry on another day.
I just wanted to be a little girl who gets to marry the person of her dreams,
the only thing that stops me from doing so is the person of my dreams happen to be a girl too.

But mother, I do.
I want to walk down the aisle while she’s standing at the altar.
I want to see crooked smiles and teary eyes and little children and my cat and maybe three more dogs and five more cats and
I want to see an oven where I am baking a  carrot cake for Christmas.
mum, you never said no to the carrot cakes I made.
I want to hug you and papa and I want you to scold me for catching me coughing yet smoking on the balcony the other day.

You know how bad my migraine gets when I smoke.
But mum, what do I do now?
I want to kiss my girl and I want to wake up without feeling the sunbeams piercing through my skin as if they are daggers.
Why can’t the sun bring me peace?
Yellow is my happy, mum.
She is my yellow, mum.
I just want to be the little moonlight who is drunk off the rays of her girl,
and that’s all I wanna be.
Yellow.

Shrey

Shrey

Shrey is a genderfluid queer person. They like writing as much as they like breathing. They're currently pursuing their degrees in Mass Communication and Journalism from a college in Kolkata. They aspire to be a LGBTQ and women's rights activist when they're on their own. They love writing poems on sensitive issues like queer love and the struggles of it and issues like body images.
Shrey

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