I don’t know how to rewrite my narrative
I don’t know if that’s true
I dont know where to start
I dont know if thats true either
What do I know then ?
I know that loving myself is going to be hard
Loving myself is going to take work. It will require me to breakdown a lot of ideas I have about myself. Loving myself will require me to unlearn destructive behavior patterns and learn the cause and affect they have on my life. Loving myself will require me to have grace and loving tenderness with and for myself, in all my incarnations.
I can’t make you want me
I can’t make you love me
27 years of learning breaks open in my chest
A seed was planted twenty-seven years ago
I just ripped it from my breast
It’s covered in blood and gristle,
It’s rough to the touch and has a foul stench
I need to cut out the branches, they’re woven around my ribs and heart and that little light in the center of me, I like to call my soul
Maybe I’ll set it aflame,
Cauterize the wounds even as the tree burns
As it turns to ash in my throat, cleansing my speech with it’s smoke, making space in my heart and around my lungs.
I think I’ll put it in a jar. Place it on my altar.
A reminder, to make sure I keep the fire burning.
Sunday was Christmas. I spent it alone, which, I told myself, I wanted. And I did. It was what I needed. I baked and I ate and I cried. I allowed myself to go deep.
There was a moment where I imagined my now self going back in time and holding my infant self. Loving on myself so tenderly, so purely that the love just seeped into my skin. Creating a shield, to protect me from the things in the world which were waiting for me. Wanting, desperately, to care for myself, raise myself so that I might become a force to be reckoned with.
It only happed once. And only for an instant. But I feel like I’m breaking through.
It is not my duty to make you a better person.
This blackness was not
Gifted to me to better you.
To better yourself from knowing
Me, is an honor I gratefully accept
Do not misunderstand that
Gratitude for purpose – intent.
I walk out my days in this skin,
Constantly learning the causes and
Effects it imparts on the world Around me.
Yes, I walk out my days in the
Hope of leaving each place better – wiser.
I do not, however, seek to exist as
A token – an accessory.
Do not look to me to check your
Ignorance – temper your bigotry.
It is not my purpose to
Correct your words and actions
Though make no mistake – I will.
I will root out your bigoted remarks
And throw them in your face,
With the utmost eloquence and grace.
I am a docile sort – a gentle sort;
Until it goes too far
Until you cast me as the Helper –
The Wise Black Woman.
I am black, and I am a
Woman. I am not however, an
Actor in your play.
Today I opened my eyes and
Found myself mid scene,
Playing a role I did not consent to;
So, I worked out the scene, spat out my lines
And exited stage left – if the show
Must to go on, it must go on