How is it I trigger your vision so much

That you become a thunderstorm 

And press against my chest until I can’t breathe.

I dismantle into the soil 

and you rain upon me 

suffocating my pores.

I am not fierce but 

I resent with the subtle smell of petrichor.

Why is it you want me to dilute my skin

and pour myself into your white ceramic cups

when my earthen pots are just decorated enough.

How is it I am not a ‘ray’ of hope

But a tunnel of darkness.

I am the metaphors that rest upon your tongue

I want to be more— more than your diction

I want to be a human. 

Why is it you want me to become you

And forget everything we’ve been through.

I am the prequel, the story and the sequel

I was exhaled by the cosmos, 

I refuse to be altered by an inch.

–ekanika shah.

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