Self Portrait

"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.