my checks are slick. the sun is weary. it's careful to tire me but not kill me yet. my acrylics are coloured like peacocks. i wanted them to make my hands look longer, slimmer, feminine. but now every time i look down i get scared because my hands look like a man's who has never met clippers. i stare out my ajji's window on the 2nd floor for hours. beggars, soon to be beggars, businessmen and evil women pass. women who are plotting robbery's and killings in red and gold sarees. my hair is curling because the humidity and everytime my mother calls, she says i look more and more like my father. i don't know what to think of this. the rusted bars scaling my neighbours windows turn golden in the sunlight. it looks like my mothers skin. rotting and then reviving.
the tv is blaring red, white, blue news about war but all i can think about is myself. i am selfish and nauseatingly evil. i hope i am punished for this. but i remember all the sins my ajji has committed, not evil just bad. this is worse yet she still prays to a white god everyday so maybe i can be saved. please not by jesus
