sorta an ode to groomers.
(or those who spin tales on maturity at lagos writers parties).
Artist Name: MKobyArt. Source: Pinterest
my body is not your rite of passage.
it never was.
it never will.
young blood.
how-did-you-learn-to-ride-so-good-at-your-age blood.
you-are-very-smart-and-i-like-my-women-smart blood.
one thing even those who teach on soul ties will not tell you is that seeking respite beneath the bodies, between the legs and from the lips of (older) men is no guarantee that millenial zaddy wisdom will speak peace to the parts of your soul hurting from a lifetime of invasions.
but my body is not your rite of passage.
it is not a place you come
to test new waters asking
is this one fresh enough to
cleanse my pain without turning to salt?
it is not a place you build castles
in hopes that one day you
call a feast of your friends
celebrating a woman whose
life contains rooms only
made to house your words and anger.
i am a woman unto myself.
before darkness ever was,
there was a garden of light
thriving so much it almost
upset the balance of universal
laws of creation.
i am a woman unto myself.
i have always always known
how to carry myself to the water
cleansing and speaking love
even upon the bits of me that are
broken and magnificent.
This is day 4 of my 16 day writing project for #16DaysOfActivism and #OrangeTheWorld. Please click on my stories if you would like to check out some of my other entries.
