"I write when I'm inspired,"
A statement frequently whispered.
From the perspective of others
I have often narrated
On love, betrayal, uncertainty and hope.
May 5, 1989
The first chapter of my book
Each chapter 365 pages
Sometimes 366
Totalling aproximately 1-1-3-2-3 plus 1 pages
Today, a new chapter begins.
Chapter 32.
How do I become my own inspiration?
And with my canvas, brushes and paint
How can this story be told?
A story riddled with highs of
Love, peace, success, and laughter
Or reminiscent of scanty episodes of despair, heartbreak and trauma.
As my brush, dipped in paint
Strokes the blank surface
The outline of my face appears
A circle- significant of the cycle of life
A reminder of continuity
A progression from the past, to the present and to the future yet to be encountered.
These brushes ever so softly create my eyes
Deep, dark, unending shadows
Dancing to the tune of comical mischief
A reflection of a spirit that can never be quenched
The windows to my soul.
Next, my nose appears
Slightly spread and somewhat pointed
This feature stands erect above the rest
A confidence to be admired
Leading me to overcome the most difficult of tasks.
My lips, ever so supple
Heart-shaped and thin
Conceal the most beautiful smile
A smile that easily appears
Effortlessly exhibiting joy while gracefully hiding pain.
Then, I see my crown
Strong, black locks of hair
Magnificently intertwined
Into strands that can never be broken
Like Samson, I'm a conqueror.
Finally, a rich, intense shade of brown
Colour of the earth, yet called black.
A hub of melanin, I am protected.
Often mistaken for a teen- I'm unbothered.
Why? Because 'Black don't crack.'
Because of my skin, I am often scorned
Nevertheless, I stand tall.
This is my self portrait
A story about me, my life, my journey
Chapter 32 is one page long
I pray it's worth a tale.
