And there I am
Sitting prettily with my
ankles crossed
Frilly socks folded down just
so,
shiny black patent-leather shoes,
skirt splayed out perfectly
around me
A buttoned cardigan
fitting trimly
Hands folded peacefully in
my lap
Patiently waiting
and there I am
At the age of six with red
lipstick
to bring out my best color
Hair easily framing my
round face
What thoughts were flying
through as I am posed
In place for this portrait
What questions do I have,
what stories do I have to tell?
and there I am
Could I have imagined all
that I would know?
That not everyone would
respect me,
I would be violated for
just being myself
Unknown,
no consideration for me as
a person
And somehow I became an
object
not worthy of having
dreams
treated because of how I
looked
and relegated to the
exotic,
not possessing smarts and
savvy
And there I am
giving in to the stereotypes
for a time
Thinking I was less than,
that something was wrong
with being me
And for a time believing
in these false persistent
images
No one to tell me,
no one to tell me
differently
And there I am
Surviving the lies and the
stereotypes
Challenging the reasons
for the falseness
Shedding the layers of
silence
Heavy for too long,
shedding slowly,
Gaining momentum as the
stories snake forth,
Building, coiling and
springing open
free to strike
And there I am
no longer sitting quietly
with hands in my lap,
ankles crossed, patiently,
perfectly waiting.
Writing furiously for lost
time
to capture the stories
to record the truth,
to leave a legacy
words spilling like a
waterfall,
rushing for the right
words,
right phrases coughing,
choking, spewing forth
and here I am.