The Sharpie

Never did I think that a sharpie and some paper
would provide me
with the liberation
that I was seeking.

Never did I think that when I cleared my head
what I would see
is frustration
at the life I was living.

Quiet shouts, intense glares, and suppressed warnings
But nothing that I could do.

I learned to keep my mouth shut.
Shut.
No opinions. Not allowed. Be good. Behave.

Anger, sympathy, sadness
boiled up, up, up
inside me.

And there I sat.
Twirling the sharpie, brushing away the tears,
I wrote.

I wrote about being a girl, a girl of color.
I wrote about violence, and abuse.
I wrote about our fights.
I wrote about my family, far, far away.
I wrote...about me.

The world around me.
It was there. My opinion.
Although falling on no judgmental or oppressive person's ears,
it was there.

Capping the sharpie,

I was, at last, free.