My name is Ami.
It’s a friendly smile,
the sweet nectar that butterflies enjoy,
the common two syllables
with the Gujarati pronunciation
“uh-me” clinging to one’s lips.
My name is Ami.
It’s the courage and patience
of a determined fighter.
It’s the cool, calm lake that
transforms into a whirlpool when provoked.
It’s the twenty-one-year-old
who proudly goes around
obsessing over cartoons
and pretending she’s the voice of Barbie,
singing and dancing along
to just about every upbeat tune
blasting on inside her car while driving.
It’s the awkward, timid girl
that’s not afraid of the dark,
but of the emptiness within,
that’s not afraid of people,
but of the rejection they bring.
It’s the circle of friends
one always wishes for,
yet sometimes, the lonely doll set apart
from all the stuffed animals in the living room.
I’m Ami and when I’m depressed,
my tears gush out as gentle waterfalls,
voice cracking and heart aching in silence,
never showing that I’m weak,
never breaking down in front of others.
I’m Ami and shivers crawl up my spine
at the thought of public speaking,
a chatterbox that hides its voice.
It’s the burning desire to pinch someone
when insulted or woken up too early,
an impatient, grumpy Grinch
in the morning,
the competitive girl that takes the words
“this means war!”
in a water gun fight.
I’m Ami and my laughter vanishes
in a stroke of uncontrollable giggles,
“a silent laugh attack,”
the same old joke running through my head
while walking down the street and
looking like a psycho
to the passing cars.
It’s having a crush on Disney,
yet sometimes, annoying ability
to tune people out accidently,
the neat freak and germophobe put into one.
My name’s Ami and it’s a gift!