For the Love of Myself

Growing, changing,

Chaos was my organized thought.  

Guessing and imagining—

through the cloud of others’ opinions,

who I wanted to become.

Growing in a shell that would not stretch,

choking on the blood that was shed to save me,

begging for help from men who were too lost to care that I was drowning,

I was alone.

Frozen, sculpted into a perfect Christian woman,

never questioning God,

never biting the hand that fed me,

submission was my language of love.

My fear?

Having my own opinion.

Knowing the balance

between being a daughter and being a woman.

The very thought of divergence sent my knees clattering a rhythm,

that had been played by so many knees before them.  

My head reeled with questions

that my sheltered and holy mind

was just beginning to present.

Out of obedience,

I remained silent.  

Always siding with oppression,

by omission.

Was it okay to stray from the values instilled in me?

Who knows?  But I did it.

I opened my mouth and the wine, once willingly consumed, spilled out.

Aged too long,

bittered by the hate blended in,

it was sweetened by the realization of love.

I relieved myself of silent submission,

of giving myself to a God who stood for judgement,

I taught myself a new rhythm:

a rhythm of acceptance.

Washed clean from ignorance,

I am a woman,

and I am proud of it.

Every person around me is beautiful,

and I am never going back,

for now that I have walked away from conviction,

I’ll never return to the taste of it.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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