 So I'm going to follow the footsteps of my youth speaker, Sidi Itara, and not read from the book. I think writing for me, it's always changing. And it's like a documentation of how I'm always changing. And so those poems were my truth at that moment. And right now, other poems speak to me in a way that those poems don't. And also, my family always calls me Bechanatma. So I was still deciding which poems I was going to read while walking and while Mazem was talking. So if you could offer me a little bit of grace for that. Yeah. And so I'll read a couple of short poems. And then I'll stop reading poems and just talk for a second. And then I'll finish with a poem. Split a poem in two and try to not make gender binary. And a scene of your body isn't written yet. And how will you direct this play uncensored? And clearly, we didn't love holy because we continue to speak in halves. So that's one poem. I think for me, that's a contemplation of gender and what it means to be a woman. Because I noticed somebody said, oh, a lot of the folks in this space are women. And it's like, you actually don't know my gender. I get to say that, and I get to name that. And just the way in which, especially in the South Asian community, we make it a binary really quickly and really harshly. And that, yeah, I was just reflecting on that. And then this is another short poem. Our house is filled with an ocean. This is the karma of immigration. How could they think forgetting a country came with no strings attached? Look, how they birthed a child filled with mourning. But this is only a poem, a performance of everything dead. And then I think that poem was me reflecting on my parents and why I write and why I don't let them read a lot of my poems. Yeah, and that's something I've been thinking about a lot with my dad. Because one of the poems, Dear Sanjana, it doesn't really capture my dad in the best light. And I wonder how awful it is for me to document him in that way. So it's like, wow, this writing thing looks really nice on the stage, but it's shitty sometimes. It's hard to have those conversations with parents when I just don't. It's easier to say it like this than to sit in front of them and talk. Yeah, so I could read another one. Actually, I'll read two more, and then I'll get off the stage. Sometimes I write guzzles because that's what I think I'm supposed to do. An act of desperation to hold onto a history, whiteness seems to erase and claim so calmly. I do not know if any of my ancestors were poets, but Nana used to sing often. Sometimes I wonder what Nana dreamt of when he was 20, but I forget the Hindi word for dream. I know the Hindi word for quiet. I promise. I promise I'll call Nani back this weekend. Now it's Monday of next week, and I've forgotten how to call home again. I blame it on the university and write a guzzle instead. I wonder how many circles I will casually dance through before I get tired and fall asleep and forget I was just trying to remember how to call home. Sometimes I write guzzles to call home and I dance in circles instead because, and then this is my last poem, and it's called Rituals, and it was like me not sleeping and thinking about what it means to archive myself, and this is the archive of all of these writers, and I think for me it's the act of loving myself because I care about myself enough to put my pen down kind of thing and write. So I'll end on this poem. Look, how I have this tendency of running into the night with my eyes open. Ever since I was eight, my family calls me Ratkirani and maybe they saw the poet in my hands before I did. Look, how the night holds me with freezing fingers and no sympathy. How the only thing spiritual I know is our willpower and my friend's hearts. How one of these stars is kind enough to cut my tears and it's twinkling and this means part of me is in the sky and the sky says it's okay if I'm not whole yet. Look, how the night never fails to come. How I can depend on its quiet and how this means the world is giving me time to write. How all of this hurting, how all of this healing spills out of the same bones that are hurting. How tonight these words dance in all their unsaid glory and this means there are poems I haven't written yet. Look, how these poems draw cities in my lungs. How the streets of these cities are lit as fuck and how tonight these poems put breath into my body again and again and look. How I am alive enough to be poet and isn't this something worth breathing for? Thank you.