WHISPERS WITHIN

For as long as I can remember, I've turned to words to understand what I feel especially when the world felt too loud, too fast, or just too much. Writing poetry has been my way of slowing down, of listening to myself, and of making sense of both the chaos and the quiet.

My poems aren't perfect. They aren't polished performances. They're real. They come from moments when I felt like I was falling apart, and others when I felt like I was flying. They come from love, loss, overthinking, joy, self-doubt, and hope.

I started Daughters of India to give voice to girls like me to our thoughts, our dreams, and our power. This book is part of that voice. A space where truth is allowed, where feeling too much is celebrated, and where silence doesn't get the final word.

I stand in the mirror, unsure what I see,
A blend of potential and of mystery.
Eyes that dream, a heart that feels,
But am I enough? The question reveals.

Voices surround me, loud and unkind,
Their words echo deep in my mind.
But I'm learning to sift through the noise,
To trust my own strength, my own voice.

I stumble, I fall,
But with each step forward, I stand tall.
Not perfect, not flawless, but that's okay,
I grow a little stronger every day.

The doubts still whisper, but softer now,
I'm learning to rise, though I don't know how.
Each trial I face becomes part of my song,
A reminder within that I do belong.

So, I'll rise with pride, I'll learn, I'll be,
Not someone else but fully me.
For I am worthy, I now can see,
Just as I am, genuinely free.

"Be yourself, Be authentic", but what does that mean,
When I'm caught in a world that's so perfectly seen?
Filters and trends, the pressure to fit,
But none of it feels like me—not one bit.

I'm not always graceful, I'm not always cool,
I say weird things, I trip at school.
Sometimes I laugh way too loud in the hall,
Sometimes I feel like I don't belong at all.

But then I remember, it's okay to stand out,
To wear what I love, to speak, to shout.
To love the way my freckles connect like a map,
To roll my eyes when they say, "Don't yap!"

Being authentic is messy and wild,
It's owning the moments where I feel like a child.
It's writing my story, not following trends,
It's choosing real friends over "likes" and pretend.

So I'll show up as me—flawed and true,
With dreams in my heart and nothing to prove.
Because the best thing I'll ever, ever be,
Is unapologetically, authentically me!

The world says, I'm valuable if I look just right,
If my hair's perfect, and my smile's bright.
But I'm starting to think, that's just a trick—
Maybe I'm valuable even if I'm not slick.

I guess being valuable means being a star,
Like knowing every trend, every song, every car.
But wait, who needs skills or a personality?
As long as I'm "popular," who cares about reality?

I'm valuable when I laugh at all their jokes,
Even if they're lame and I'm just being polite—yikes!
When I follow all the "rules" they think I should,
And pretend I'm always perfect, misunderstood.

But, let's talk for a second, I know this whole thing's a lie,
I'm valuable because I'm me, no need to try.
Not because I'm "perfect," or because I impress,
But because I'm genuine, and I know that's my best.

They say brave is facing what's unknown,
Walking through shadows, standing alone.
But I've learned it's more than just fear,
It's having the strength to persevere.

Brave is the way you rise after defeat,
Picking yourself up, refusing to retreat.
It's the courage to chase what others might flee,
And the strength to just be who you're meant to be.

Brave isn't about being fearless, it's true,
It's about feeling the fear, but pushing through.
It's in the quiet moments, the heart that's bold,
And the courage to embrace what's yet to unfold.