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5

Poetry

Disappointment

Ananyaa Mishra

For all the parts of my identity that I disposed to become a whole new individual,
Who is admired and more importantly, considered, it is indeed disappointing,
That despite washing away disgust from myself, and bedecking myself with goodness,
The most visible filth on me is stubbornly indelible.

Disappointment, how it aches me,
As if it were a wildfire,
Burning with the will to immolate me.
And so it burns, growing fiercer every minute,
Fuelled by the persistent menace called shame.

Shame, omnipresent as it is, haunts and taunts me,
Even after it has changed me, into someone I don’t identify as me,
Someone I feel disjunct from,
But someone I must compulsively be.

Shame roars with laughter, while instigating the wildfire to burn brighter,
And immolate me, without incinerating me.
Shame demeans, still sniggering,
‘Ha! Look at you, disappointed like never!’
Look at you, dejected with your head hanging low,
When you had aspired instead,
To live with hope, and your head held high.

Look at you, fooled into believing,
That I will liberate you from my torment,
Only to find me creeping in,
The moment I find you anticipating inclusivity.

Remember, that you can only dream,
Of me ridding you of me.
No matter how far you move place,
No matter how much you shift shape,
I will only return,
Just to push you back into the dungeons of self-loathing.’

My heart sinks with an enormous thud,
Into depths of disappointment.
Although unfamiliar to the vast darkness that surrounds it,
It will certainly familiarise itself, I will ensure so.

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