by 
June 29, 2009
What is life, but a feigned attempt at immorality? For all of the world’s worth, it comes down to nothing, really. What is a girl, but a reflection of generations of femininity? What is a boy, but the shadow and future bread of what his father wishes to be? Do you wake every morning with a plan, no vice to be spread? Or do you wake to meet everyday with insouciance. An attitude, be whatever may. For when I wake every day, I am a mix between the two. No love, some life, less assured…I search this earth for proof. That I am special, maybe important. That my existence on this earth won’t be ignored. That maybe, just maybe my grace will be implored. What is a baby, but the spawn of a lovers lust? What is an old man, but a book of wisdom, a coif of dust? I use my eyes to see the world around me. I use my ears to hear the speech that riles me. I use my nose, olfactory tube and gestation to smell the sweet summer nectar and the bitter winter breeze. I use my hands to feel the flesh, to touch, to tease. But when I lie awake at night, slumber escapes me. My mind wanders to and fro…rest, wont let it be. I am but a human. Imperfect in many ways. I am but black, seen as less than, evil and incompetent. No matter how many generations have passed since slavery’s day. I am but a woman, misogynized to my core. I am but a girl, scared and ignored. I am so many things…encapsulated into a being. I am but a sparrow in spirit. Winds abound on my wings. I am so many things, I say. So many things indeed. But with all of this, I still don’t have what I need. To soar on the wings of dreams and burrow deep within the womb of a golden steed. Security is elusive, but no soul does it feed. Black as night. White as a hot flame, ignite…The passion within me to do, to be , to change, to see, to feel, to touch, to hear, to heed. The warning of the archangels on high, with their spare rods aimed and ready to take flight. Imprisoned in my own life, circumstances of enormous strife. I feel bitter; filled with 27 years of sorrow and rage. I feel little. Outdone and overshadowed by those on the main stage. I feel betrayed…for however my aspirations bloom, were they to seem not depraved of the right…to manifest. To let me shine, to be at my best. I am just too stricken with grief, pain and struggle, I don’t know if I have the strength to fight anymore…all alone. Amel, I wanna stop singing the solider song.
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