Anoushka S

Anoushka

Humans

I was always told that humans were meant to be one

But I have no evidence of the statement, I’ve got nothing, none

Not only did our kind have the time to create a label for all individuals,

But also shame us into thinking that we were the criminals

 

You’re either too fat, too smart, too pretty, too small

I now know I will never meet the expectations, so you might as well tell me I’m nothing at all

But actually no matter what, I in fact am still human

So why separate me from others? Where’s the confusion?

 

We were born to be real, not perfect

So being a little different, does not make people aliens the last I checked

Still I suffered backlash about the way I act and look from others

But don’t pity me, just understand the pain people like me share with one another

 

2011, I was just a young vulnerable girl

In my tiny hot pink tutu at dance class, living in my own little world

I went up to two girls, and asked if I could play

The younger one said,”No, we don’t share a skin color.” The older one just looked away

 

At that moment that barrier went down

Even at seven years old I knew I was different, but I never stood up, not even a sound

So here I am today, making up for the times I never said anything

I am not a different species, I’m just unique, my chocolate complexion is not my identity, my identity is being me… A human

 


I AM…

 

I am determined and hard working

I wonder if our society is crumbling down

I hear my conscience is tell me the truth

I see my future in the distance

I want a healthy nation

I am loyal and stubborn

 

I pretend what others say doesn’t affect me

I feel my emotions leak out at times

I touch the hearts of strangers

I worry about my dad

I cry for the loss of others

I am hard-headed and hopeful

 

I understand that life isn’t fair

I say what goes around comes around

I dream about the what-ifs I don’t say out loud

I try to stay sane

I hope to see the best in others

I am lost but found

 

 


Cigarette Problems

“Inhale, exhale, Tragone…Taper…Robinson…Tyris…Alison…Oh! It’s no use,” I say in disbelief.

I pull out my stack of cigarettes before lighting one. Inhaling the nicotine almost makes it feel better…almost. I have been taking these stupid  therapy sessions for almost six months after the car crash. And Dr. Holland always reminds me that if at anytime I feel an anxiety attack coming I should list the street names of my childhood neighborhood. She says I PTSD, but I say it’s bull. I take one last drag of the cigarette before dropping it to the ground below. I dig my heel into it and walk away from the evidence of my misery without a second glance.

 

 

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