The one who stood up here before
Who couldn't take it any more
Went through with her plan.

What would be my legacy?
Just like me,
I could turn the statistic
Into a curvy figure too—
Not a straight and slender one.
But being realistic,

I find the strength to turn away
And face the world another day
—A continuing man.

Unlike any other day, I wasn't rigid today.
I was breezy and free; bent wherever I wished to be.
I've been wet, I've been greased;
I've been lathered, I've been seized.

I'm black, I'm brown; I'm also blonde: like a crown.
I'm styled, different in each, and sometimes far for another's reach.
I've my friends, young and old;
They can be straight, or have twisted desires to uphold.

Some of my friends leave my side; others go gray.
Our roots are cruel; it ignores our cries.
We may as well perish; if left dry.

I get cut in half or quarter; in a fortnight or two.
You'd assume I say put; I do not.
I fear no pairs of steel; I'm not alone.
I, am a forest of sable strings, zenith this body whole.

A warrior in a deep thicket,
where the path lies hidden,
thoughts are buried in shadows.

Legs hang heavy,
arms bear carved stories,
eyes—emptied of light—
still search for a road unseen.

People think i’m sensitive
They don’t know my battles
They don’t know what i’ve been through and what i’ve emerged from
They don’t know how strong I am
If I’m sensitive
Then being sensitive is the strongest of all

I let go.
I let go of the story I keep trying to tell—
the one where, near the end,
someone comes to save me.

I’ve already learned,
in the most painful ways,
that I will always save myself.
It is my responsibility,
and mine alone.

So I let go
of that narrative where I remain
the little girl.

Now I am a woman,
and I choose to write
a different story.