I Am Who I Say I Am
As the architecturesque African queen seemingly stared intently at the only white flower painting on her wall, her majestical jet black hair gathered into the shape of the flower which sat high like a pompadour on her head.
In slow motion, the colours in the painting morph out and gather at her cheeks transforming themselves onto mimosa brown skin in a wooden texture. Her blusher is complete.
No room for lip gloss because ‘love politics’ of the day had kissed her bare nubian lips leaving a liquorice post-it plastered there. She will name no names. The queue is too long.
“I am a minimalist” she says as she brushes away Ghana’s soaked gari from the corner of her mouth.
She handles the characterless frame on the wall with care turning them into bodacious hoops and slots them through her ear lobes. She must look picture perfect. Maybe the Caribbean island was her next stop if she ended up at the wrong address.
She likes no drama and as of now, no other force of life, whether animal, man, woman or child has entered her world because “I am a minimalist” she says.
She does not carry the weight of the unnecessary things of the world on her shoulders because “I am a minimalist” she says of her bare necessity lifestyle.
She will not commit. She is a free spirit because “I am a minimalist” the nameless woman says.
If not for time and formalities, there would be much to be said by a nameless woman who is who she says she is as a number is called out by an anonymous voice automated ‘Madam Speaker Of The House’ ushering her handler in.
“But I am a minimalist” she barked at the post office worker who stamped her without concern or knowledge of a simple architecturesque queen on ‘Black History Month’ but sadly, no one could hear her because she was just a still image on a 46 pence stamp and she now joined the piles of mail yet to be delivered by the postman. She sighed and with that said “Long live the Queen” after which she never spoke again.
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