The day when I decided to choose grey
And dumped pink! Ouch it hurts them,
Yes, I am an artist and I like grey.
Choices are mine and I chose greys.
Being constant with choosing what to wear
I broke the values, you sketched for me.
“Sweeter shall my wild heart rest
With your footprints on my breast.”
She wrote to me, I decided not to be
The one who tried sabotage my credence,
Will never remember the sex he was born.
Like fire like water, burned your yearning
But choose not to be the one.
Oh, hear the plight of those who brings life
To your rusted shelter.
Whose tireless toil oft goes unseen, unknown
At the door she stands with your bread,
Awaiting for your good bye smile!
She labour with her hands and hearts alone,
And bear a weight that few can fully own.
Never ending tasks that fill each passing dusk,
Can wear the strongest spirit to decay,
As she shoulders burdens evermore.
She told me how cumbersome it was!
To a woman with black coat and a hefty bag,
A lunch box and a gummed label of a brand.
Ah! she was with her earned cash,
And I was cashless, No, but I had asked him
The very last night to give me hundreds,
To bring some viand.
I was never born to be the one,
But you made me one.
They asked me to be with someone,
Where Ovid will ovulate, Philomela takes
The retribution with Tereus,
And the nightingale will yodel
The song of solidity and vigor.
I would better sketch my voice
Thou, Wordsworth know my name
At least not in his grave.
I choose what I want to be,
A woman of love and hate,
Or A wo without man.
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