I jingle my bangles when you pass by,
Not just a little—I let them cry.
I act all spoiled, shout with flair,
Crash my bike just to make you stare.
They mock my words, they don’t understand,
So I reply with a twist, a sleight of hand.
At home or on the street, my heart won’t rest,
I strike back gently, a quiet protest.
Your memory pulls, while laughter bites,
When it gets too much, I rattle knives at night.
