About Me

This story is about me. 

About the real me, the “now” me.

The me standing here, in this place, at this time, T.
This is not about the ‘me’ ten years ago

The child who wrote a poem titled “Joyfully” 

But couldn’t even tie her laces rightfully.

The girl who at age ten knew she must probably be over educated

Because some of her mates couldnt pronounce ‘Simile’

And they said the past tense of register was ‘registrated’.”
This story is not about me seven years ago

The ‘me’ who could spell N-O

But never pronounce it out loud

In fear of upsetting the crowd.
This is not about those times,

When the word ‘friend’ meant

‘Partner in low self esteem’ 

And I only wished it would mean

‘That smart, pretty, confident girl

Who leads the “big team”’.
No, this is not a story about the insecure teen.

Who couldn’t realise

That ‘me’ is precious, special 

And deserved to be treated as such 

By others, but first by me.
This is not about the naive ‘me’ 

Who believed that life 

Was only either black or white 

and no other way;

And that you couldn’t mix the black and white 

And make do with gray.
This is not a sad story,

Where ‘me’ is throwing a pity party.

Soliciting your nods, head shakes 

And occasional tears, 

Filling your ears with junk about my fears.
This story is about me. 

About the real me, the “now” me.

The ‘me’ standing here, in this place, at this time, T.
The ‘me’ who is content to not be her, 

Content to not have had his life, 

Her family, his past, 

The ‘me’ with smiles that finally last.

This story is about the ‘me’ 

Who has stopped looking for the easy way, 

For excuses and reasons

But who chooses every day

To own her flaws, learn her lessons.

To not apologise for her convictions.
This is about me 

Who knows the two definitions of fear: 

Forget everything and run or 

Face everything and rise

And who, of the two, chooses the latter, 

Because ‘rising’, 

It’s my only choice in the matter.

This is about ‘me’ who understands 

That it might not have been my choice to fall,

But as for whether I stand or not, I’m the one to make that call.
This is about a girl who knows what she’s fighting for,

Who knows she has to lose some battles in order to win the war. 

About a girl who’s not afraid to throw wide open the gates of her heart, because “hey, the right people have the keys to the door and the rest of you can feel at home in the yard.”
This is about the girl who will not let shards of broken heart, tamper with the lens.

Through which her world comes into focus, 

The lens that converges on the sense in all the nonsense.

The girl who aspires to be the friend Solomon was talking about.

The friend who will always be there with or without.
This story is about the ‘me’ who has grown, 

Crept, walked, run and then flown.

The ‘me’ who embraces challenges

Who’s excited about changes

The me who, even when life’s shade is mellow

Always seeks amidst the dim to find her yellow.
This is about me, 

The she with brown skin

With black eyes and thick rims

You know, short sight but big dreams

The girl who’s in love with words and keen

About sweetly blending them in sound, 

And about how the artist within is found,

The ‘me’ who knows her past, her history.

And gladly wants to share the journey’s story..
A story of phases, of metamorphosis

A story for those who have thought that for them there isn’t a before and an  after

Or that in all their bleakness, there couldn’t be any laughter.

If this is you and you live in this perpetual night

My story is for you to see

That if you can see the darkness, then there’s a flicker of light.

Faint as it may be now, it still has the potential to shine bright.

Spoken word performance of this poem is coming up soooon!

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