She wakes at five, in linen white,

To a window kissed with glowing morning light,

Her life is soft, her steps are small,

She drinks her matcha, journals it all.

Her world is clean- carries a quiet grace,

No clutter, not a hair out of place,

She breathes in lavender and rose,

And moves through time, consistently productive and impossibly slow.

But some aren’t her. I hit snooze twice (or thrice, maybe multiple times…)

My room’s a storm, sunlight stings through half-closed blinds,

My thoughts are chaos, my skin’s not clear,

My goals risk dissolving by this time of the year.

They say, “Be that girl, chase your light.

Wake, stretch, manifest it right.”

But trying to be perfect is a silent game,

A row of hashtags which might just be sustained pain.

Wellness shouldn’t feel like war-

Like you’re always meant to be more-

Better. Sweeter. Slimmer. Still.

A body shaped by another’s will.

But we aren’t curated feeds,

Sometimes we stumble before we succeed,

Messy hope. Loud and late.

Crying after a result. Missing a time and date.

I love my food. Sometimes, I skip the workout burn.

I like my sleep. Sometimes, I snore till there’s no more sun.

I lose my phone, and the glasses that were on my head the whole time,

Sometimes, I stand there and lose my mind.

So, here’s to us, who break that frame-

Who live our lives in vibrant flame.

No need to fit a rigid goal,

In all our chaos, we are whole.

Signing off…