Mold Me
You suppose mold and place heavy on my head your expectations of greatness
It shines in a young easily influenced mind that this is it, I am ultimate
I am power, respected and queen
With gold on my wrists and house with pool
Why then did the insides scream?
House shared with German Jamaican of discipline whose only want was to turn me backwards and discipline me
Without my submissions I was again desolate
Sweet fragrance of Arabic perfume an assault on my senses to you I belonged
My god yet they took inside their armpits as if this the reach from bowed on prayer matt to be theirs
I cried sweet tears of joy for Jesus and asked am I a Muslim
Yet they wrapped their women in muslin cloth and forbid the outspoken in silenced nights, the stuff that the newspapers cannot and will not write
My acceptance came when dressed in brand
And I held my forehead to the sun
Sun god whispered to me go home, to the place of heart
Restart turn not from your cosmo mix of family, distress and heartbreak
But heal - here you are young lady nothing more than a rich persons meal
Merely a game and I had no success
In that very happening I became eternally blessed
My ancestors never foresaked me and glory is spirituality so fast, so complete so bitter like sea salt
Rinsing the wounds for further battles
Copyright © Aisha Johnson | Year Posted 2021
|