I am a woman
Embodied in colored skin
My purpose has been determined by society’s symbolism
Of sex objects and play toys.
My body is bare and given to those undeserving
Seeking love given to me on purpose.
My focus is not on me as it should be.
My attempt to fulfill this void
Has dictated the outcome of my state of present.
Who has time to think of me?
When my own self is unable to perform such a task
My mind is broad and overly inhabited,
Tribulations and adversities encompasses it,
Trying to define ways of growing beyond it,
Maintaining strength and courage to move forward.
Yet I cry in the midst of my solitude,
Wanting to display my weaknesses and my need for comfort and security.
But time doesn’t wait for tears to shed
Instead, it awaits that one missed step,
Or that one uncrossed “T”.
One resemblance of flaw will reduce my perceived worth.
Even by those men of my own hue,
Choose to mentally and publically batter me.
The love for me has diminished
To the names of Bitch, Baby Mama and Bust-it-Baby
To abuse of my psyche and body
To the destruction of my gifted heart.
As I progress beyond his hierarchical status
Belittlement and forced submission is portrayed to me
Unwanting of my potency and astuteness
And accepting none of my inadequacies
He sees not who I really am
A mother, sister, daughter, niece, friend, wife or those of the like.
As if he did, he would hold me on a pedestal
Cherishing the delicate nature of even the bareness of my body
Did you know that I’ve come from a history of powerful women
Making things come into being with only two of my own hands
Feeding mouths with our bodies
And strengthening the mindset of our future.
The mechanism of power was never purposed to compete with the role of a man
But challenging him to become more than what is expected of him
He must open his eyes to visualize my purpose
Look inside himself to see who I really am.
Listen to the words of the ancestors of our culture
Envision if there was no more of me,
No legacy to be left for you to see
No history of my very existence
The mental perplexity of this thought
Leaves results to if there was no more of me,
There would be no more of you.
Appreciate me for what you have left of my heritage
Seek not to ridicule and torment my beauty
Just as I was made in the image of God,
You were made in the image of me.
