An abecedarian poem.
All my life, I’ve
Battled with the
Consequences of being an only
Daughter. Taught to stay silent,
Eclipsed by emotions
For a son, constantly belittled.
Going through the motions, I ran,
Heart pounding, head hurting,
Intentionally sidelined, constantly
Just shunted and told to
Keep it all in.
Let it all go, like
My emotions don’t matter.
Nobody tells you it doesn’t get easier.
Over the years, I’ve struggled.
Pondering the differences,
Quintessentially different, in
Relation to my relations,
Stirred the pot, was the rebel.
“Thoughtless, headstrong, independent”, all said
Veneers of self-importance,
Waxing prose of familial intent,
Xenophobia expunged: too little, too late.
You begin to believe what the
Zealots espouse — you’re never good enough.
Thank you Tamyka Bell for introducing me to yet another cool poetic form. ❤