F(art)

It can smell like a fart
Still, be art.

Art.
Coming from the heart
Needs no feedback
No hashtags or cashback;
Not to impress
But express
The feeling we hide inside
To bring to the surface
What you can’t see
From the outside.

It can smell like a fart
Still, be art.

While you’re cringing, I am twerking 😎

This ain’t a challenge.
I have done this all my life;
Cleaned my own shit
Washed my sins — along with them dirty laundry,
Not just on Sundays but every bloody day
Since the day I realised –
Solitude was in my bones.
Nope, not a hippie with damp hair and smokes,
I just like to do things my way,
Away from assholes, living on my own.

Families play their part, as always
I have learnt quite much,
From the mistakes they’ve made.
To be or not to be like them
Was never the question,
To be a better version of me
Was and still is my challenge.

It’s been three years now
I am living the life of a motherless child,
but I am thankful
For those 21 glorious years of my life.
I want to thank my home
my mom to be precise.
She was a badass lady;
A bitch when I acted like a snitch
A fucking god fairy with pixie dust and shit
Gracing our lives with her mysteriously
delicious cooking skills.
She would never back out,
Hell yeah, she was loud!
Her presence was felt not just in the room
But deep in our bones;
From her, we learnt the royalty of loyalty,
The old-fashioned definition of love.
Spoon-feeding? Nah
She taught us to stand on our own.

So yeah, this ain’t a challenge
To survive without help in this lockdown.
While many are crying, cribbing,
Hoarding and going live —
To show them who doesn’t quite care they’re alive,
All my chores are done, and
Here I am floating, high
with a glass of wine.