Papa, I tried.
I tried to colour only inside the lines.
I tried to always get good grades.
I tried to be seen and not heard.
God knows, I tried.
Perhaps I wasn’t made to be a cookie
One of many in a packet.
Mama, I tried.
I tried to always sit with my knees together.
I tried to make rotis round as the moon.
I tried to perfectly French braid my hair.
God knows, I tried.
Perhaps I wasn’t made to model
The role of perfect femininity.
Granny, I tried.
I tried to be kind and smart
And docile and brave and caring
And accomplished all at once.
I tried to be you, or atleast the way
They told me you were.
God knows, I tried.
Perhaps I wasn’t made to measure up to these standards.
Uncle, I tried.
I tried to let my biological clock
Panic-induce me into love marriage and the baby carriage.
I tried to want the way of the white picket fence with as much fervour
As I want love, peace and connection.
God knows, I tried.
Perhaps I wasn’t made for blissful convention.
People, I tried.
I tried to fit into one of the boxes you offered me.
I tried to squish myself into roles that made me smaller.
I tried to reach expectations that stretched me thin.
God knows, I tried.
Perhaps I was meant to build my own boxes
And grow out of them.
Perhaps we all were.
©Shweta Bhat
Shweta Bhat Poetry 