poem by Ayesha Owais (16, Pakistan)

The sky is cherry-blossom pink today and I'm a prisoner
loose in the swatches of heaven with my crimson shoes
and temporarily dressed wounds--me and my borrowed 
happiness / My pesky self singing as if the wind is a gentle
gale and it's singing along with me / As if I've escaped and
I'm never going back again.

---

And I thought growing up is like that. Perennial and
gruesome. When holding hands is more than just a 
gesture of affection and when love is a longing and 
nothing else like a fish bone scratch at the back of your
throat. An ache that you long for to stay. Leave a trace,
a spot, a fleck, you say. Leave me a stain. And I thought
growing up is like that. Perennial and gruesome.

The sky is your crooked smile today. It's a blessing, I say
echoing my mother. I'm chained to myself in a crowded
room and today I'm malleable and pliant. You squeeze my
hand for comfort and you leave me a bruise--
It's a chess game and I'm killing off myself piece by piece.
Chained to myself in a crowded room

And I thought growing up is like that--exhilarating and breathless--
suffocating. It's raining outside--look at the plastic
flowers blossoming and sinning and dancing--mocking me,
tongue tied. It's raining outside--and oh look at me 
​praying for it to turn into a thunderstorm. Dear God, bury
me with my envy. And believe me when I say--I thought 
growing up is like that--envious and remorseless. So
tomorrow I'll be a maniac, a feral--a prisoner loose in 
the swathes of heaven. Me and my crimson shoes--I'm a 
prisoner loose.