The Social Box

 

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Stepped in a box,

Looked giant, I was small.

I sat playfully,

Never complaining.

Mother smiled, father jovial.

 

All I did was play with toys,

Sometimes fall asleep with my car held close.

 

Trouble in the paradise,

When I turned four.

When father found I possessed more cars than the dolls.

Mother worried, bought me some new frocks.

With striped socks, I matched them to my shorts.

 

Soothing father, mother declared, it’s just a phase.

The phase became a period.

A chapter, now a hard bound book.

 

The giant box still present,

Sat in, but my ass won’t fit.

Mother and father don’t want me to play with cars,

Instead marry a guy who drives a lavish car.

Mom says no more frocks,

And a big cross on shorts.

No crop tops, they expose a lot.

Be a lady, wear sarees for sure.

 

Don’t sit cross legged,

It’s a crucial requirement on the ‘Lady list’ that needs to be checked.

 

How do I explain it to you mom,

Throw away the box now.

Neither will I fit, nor will I bow.

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