My Space

Hey guys!

I performed a poem for the first time in front of an audience in my college a couple of days ago. It was a very knowledgeable experience. I was so nervous and I wanted to back out at the last minute, but the friend I was performing with, Mythili, (check out her blog - https://awkwardambivertblog.wordpress.com/blog/ ) made sure I recited the poem with her and then forced me to recite another one of mine.

Her and I finished writing this poem 20 minutes prior to our performance. The both of us want to go out, figure out new cities and live independently, away from our parents. We've always wanted our own space. And that's what our poem is about. Check it out -

What does your own space mean to you?
Does it have to be in a specific city, state or country?
Does it have walls or does it move around on two legs?
Does it have to be on the first floor?
Does it need to be on the edge of a mountain so you can finally say I'm edgy, bro?
Does it need to have a spiralling stairway that you can slide down from, very much unladylike
Can it have pink walls, Ayn Rand and Das Kapital in the same room?

My space will have lots of pictures and lesser people
In my space, I can come out of the shower naked and still singing
But I will have to remember to drape my windows
I can make a tower of pizza boxes that never get taken out
Just like my single self
It will take me into its arms and stick around when I push it away
My space will have the potted plants that won't die (hopefully)
It will let me order in, day in day out
And again and again
Then next day, I'll be on call with my mom, begging for her grocery list

My space will become as messy as I am
There'll be will cobwebs in its corners and my own
It'll wait for me to open its windows
And let the sun light fall onto sad floors and reluctant lips
On cold and happy mornings, it'll give me crappy coffee
And I will stop laughing at mom's prescise half spoon of sugar

It will see my friends who need a bed to crash on and a shoulder to cry on
My space will witness coffee mug stains, cracked flower pots, tears, lots of tears, smiles that even Teletubbies admire
My space will also witness my growth, bruisingly beautiful.
My space will have a personality of it's own
It will not like it when Neha comes in crying again for the third time about her so called prince charming
It will definitely not appreciate my friends throwing up on its couch again
It'll be more than happy to fulfill my damsel in distress dreams by providing a very Rapunzel like window and a long dupatta for when human company was not expected
On some mornings, my space will be okay with me having a cheese burst pizza instead of oats
My space will age with me, it will learn to reject heavy curtains
That to don't flutter with the breeze,
It will jam its always open doors on
dead tired Thursday evenings,
It will not slap me with its emptiness
After a half hearted escape from a party,
It will learn to keep my train of feels
Oiled and ready to go after a
Night of RomedyNow
On days when I wear something other than pajamas everywhere, my space will fight down my insecurities and push me into the world

My space won't let me dwell in its corners, weeping on the day I leave it,
Rather,
It will teach me that homes don't need roots
But it definitely needs to have stories and songs
With easy breaths and struggling gasps and uncertain sighs

I will walk away slowly saying...

Smile and wave boys
Smile and wave!