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I wanted to be born.

For it was a challenge,

to prove myself,

my womanhood.

I knew I would be perfect!

The GOAT!!

So, I leapt into the sufferings,

the nine months journey,

through the thorn-laden road,

to greatness, all alone.

Rather a cake walk, I felt.

For my inner flame of desire

melted down the pyre.

From the ashes

I resurged, I finally was born,

and with me another.

…

I was named Mother,

the purest, the nurturer.

The weight of it did but, smother!

It sank me into the depths

of impossible expectations,

both internal and inherited,

I suffocated beneath its massiveness.

Its hefty tentacles,

sucked my colours out,

fed on my brain,

drained my juices.

In the struggle to be the Ideal,

I sweat, I pant, I bled.

But in front of the merciless onlookers-

blind to my weary eyes,

deaf to my screaming heart,

Stoic, I stood.

For I am but, The GOAT!

Though I failed to impress,

my kind, my blood,

the self-proclaimed connoisseurs!

…

It was all a lie,

It isn’t all sunshine and roses,

It is also dingy and thorny.

Muffled crying,

soaked pillow,

puffed up eyes,

the mourning was essential,

of my death,

that preceded my new birth!