My Words

I have to prove that I was here I have to make a difference I am not just a filler, I have a purpose, Some importance was given to me in ’93. And as these words grate the paper As my words grate the paper, I speak to you, her and him. I ask what? why? But most importantly I try to answer. I try to figure out my worth. I try to figure out what my labels are and what they mean. Am I black? What does it mean to be a girl? Do I have “good hair”? Am I incapable of being loved because I do not? I try to pour out my pain. The pain that is so tightly cased and hidden. I try to understand what made me the way that I am Why I have made the decisions that I have made. Why do I run from my race? Why do I hide my hair? Why did I attend a predominantly white high school and college? Why do I stray away from predominantly black groups or institutions? My thoughts, my secrets are on this paper. My feelings are out, my hard shell broken. The tears that I hold back The anger, the questions that I cannot answer are here My wishes, my dreams for others to be different My fear of trying to make a difference, my silence It all breaks here. My insecurities, my lack of confidence are no more. These words, my words, give me a voice that I have nowhere else. This paper brings me to life. It gives me courage, strength to speak out. Myself, my morals, my beliefs, my pain are my words. Iantha Stewart