Imagery

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


 

I think about the day when I was born.

I wonder if there was a celebration or just another day.

Another black baby in the world, another mouth to feed.

Another body to cloth. 

Another twinkle to mold into a mind of her own. 

Would my parents even think twice if I was a boy?

Would they care more with the option to do less?

Am I just a meal ticket for them to live off of or just to keep my father in jail?

Am I worthy of this skin, these bones?

Am I here to have a mind of my own or to be like everyone else?

I think about the day I was born and wish that day never happened.

I think about watching from the sky at who I could have been.

Looking down at my would be family with a sigh of relief. 

Watching them live a life of earthly terms and thinking “thank god I’m not there”. 

Thank god you made me but is this how you really made me?

Do you want me as much as I want to not be here?

Did you make me to be cruel and broken and needing to know right from wrong?

Did you make me to be a lie, a believer of things that shouldn’t concern me?

Did you make me to understand nothing but react to everything?

You made me to suffer but you also made me to heal. 

You made a life in my name and made me claim her, she, they, them, he. 

You made to hope as hard as I can even if it wasn’t enough. 

You made me and I can’t turn back now. 

Damn, why can’t I turn back?


Submitted: January 15, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Morgan k Armstrong. All rights reserved.

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