A Symphony of Broken Chords
This is from a familiar place;
Girl revolts against herself,
Manoeuvres beliefs holding her in place,
and hands boy a jar of blood.
Boy takes jar,
Boy sees love first,
Boy sees peace.
Then Boy sees 'young and stupid'
Boy sees controlling, sees deflective.
Hope that the power in my belly can carry on a broken chord,
That the back of my tongue understands piecing together,
can say healing, and not die a hypocrite.
I like music when it lies to me and promises me that I am alone.
I like music when it seduces me into a bathroom, 
hands me soap and water and says "you are the problem. Fix it"
No scrub because my skin will demand forgiveness. 
Say, whose teeth leave them because they do not eat meat?
I do not have a fav anything but colour—black.
Like my mum, it reminds me that I threaten this world, that I am much.
And my father did not hand me my name out of necessity.
He knew that I will keep me safe. 
That I will carry this heirloom with the glory of a White Snake,
he knew that I would go up against anything and come out human.
There is an equivalent of love in every language,
giving us a chance to redeem ourselves.
So I am trusting my father.
I am finding my way back to Girl
Somewhere, I find a place I can say lavender and delight.
My mouth is willing to let the light in and laughter welcomes me,
wraps safety around my shoulder and I do not protest.
This too, this place feels familiar.
I want to stay.

By Uche Amaobi (culled from #Junecomes)

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