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,

the awesome

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!


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