Tomorrow’s the big day.

Shall I throw my cap at your feet

in excitement or rebellion?

You’ve overwhelmed me far too long;

now you desire me to celebrate my own “right” of passage.

Yet had I not practiced to attain  your silly idea of perfection

It’d not be my right anymore, as if it ever was.

The girls will wear white and the boys will wear

black as we head to our send-offs,

betrothal to the future.

I paid that dowry fee, twice even.

But it’s one debt I’ll be paying for the rest of my life,

unless creativity and the arts are good to me.

Please, be good to me.