I used to believe I was a storyteller.

Once upon a time, there stood

a mad little meek child, under

grey clouds and a raincoat hood.

I used to believe I was a poet.

With an incohesive rhyme scheme

in my back pocket, words 'ink' and 'me' and

'love' and 'dream' in every verse to show it.

I wrote a letter to you today. I talked of the clouded sun on your face and how you're one call away but I truly believe you're farther than you seem I hate it when I'm rambling It's why I don't read what I write Did I

Did I tell you what I wanted to? ah. back to-

the story, yes- of the steady paced waters of June

years later, falling onto

my black chappals - shoes -

they don't dirty my feet like my

favourite pink & blue disney slip - ons

mom warned me against

but, I believed I was a rebel

Since the first time I peed in bed

the story - of every June smelling different

as another secret travels

from the back of my neck

to the end of my nostrils

from where it goes upwards

to right between my eyebrows

it comes out as the fourth pimple

on my temple. I burst it and cry

Hence, I believe June is rotten

I'll try believing in July.

Copyright: Himangi Nair

BGM: September Rain - BigRicePiano