I once read:
Don’t wait for someone to bring you flowers. Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul.”
I felt that in my soul.
We are present in a society which chronically emphasizes how we are not enough, what we do isn’t enough, etc.
I enjoy being feminine in all of its strength and tenderness. “I” statements were not always the easiest for me to form as no one tells you how you’re supposed to be because they can’t.
Forming into the woman, I am I didn’t fully recognize who she/I was/am. Who was I supposed to emulate? I didn’t want to mimic anyone; I just wanted to be the best version of myself. I didn’t try on versions of myself, but I think I more-so allowed myself to explore as seasons changed. Some versions I championed more than others; all, however, necessary to arrive at this place of self-awareness.
My core work required another component: knowing without a shadow of a doubt who I was/am at my core.
I’ve learned the value of planting my own flowers — doing for myself in a way where I can appreciate if someone else does it for me/gives it to me.But I am not dependent on it coming from the hand of another… negotiating and renegotiating what I value and consider to be success.
I don’t need to flex in order to be commanding. I am a woman, in the very sense of the word: A wonderful adaptation to humanity; the nourishment that fuels the passion expressed in sex, in love, in relationship. I am a woman…strong, and delicate. I am to be honored and to be looked after. I am irreplaceable and in high demand, therefore I am a warrior and to be protected. I bless God that I am a woman. I am made the way I am… to look the way I do… to laugh as loudly and giggle as freely as I do…I bless God that I am fearfully and wonderfully made!
I am a blend of rock candy and diamonds – the playground for all things eccentric. I take tours in hiking boots and explore the gallows on my knees. I don’t mind getting dirty, as long as my nails don’t break. I have pinot or chardonnay with lunch, and I’m not embarrassed to order another Jack after dinner. I’m bold. My nonverbal communication is as resounding as the verbal.
I’m Hepburn meets Davis – Blackpower mixtapes and tiaras.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s and block party feasts.
I believe Jesus is on the side of the oppressed.
I’m an advocate of gold bottom pull-outs and Ray-Ban frames. Prince CD collections propped next to the complete series of Sex and the City.
I mix tattoo ink with silk. Fine linens are no match for my Ebony tone. Engraved on my flesh are scriptures and scars… when I’m nude, I’m my most comfortable. I wear a conditioned afro-blacker than the power; my berry sweeter than mango sun tea.
I not a painter, but I decorate walls in jeweled-tone curtains. When I do paint my distress finds solace on the canvas – I’m at times, indecisive and I frustrate myself. I don’t care. I still smile.