It is a snake-ish existence with which I address myself.
My walk-in displays the skin I shed.
The one I wear for him is a deep shade of red,
lusty, sometimes bloody, the colour of the wild.
The one I wear for her is a spotty blue,
trying to bring in the calmness she so desperately lacks.
The one I wear for the old woman in the park
is a stocking shade of pink to remind her of her youth.
The one I wear for my brother is a reliable blazer black
to make him realize my shoulder pads would always exist for him.
I wear a green sari for the in-laws
to represent the inescapable fertility cage they’ve put me in.
I wear a shade of white for everyone else in the world
So that they can paint me as they see me.
But for my mom,
I turn myself bare and see her eyes accept me as I am.
With no skin to shed,
It is with her I find my humanity.