There are Times
When I am showered with Love from Strangers,
More than I have from my own Blood,
An Exchange blossomed from my Mouth and Theirs,
Angels come visit my Side, innagurating this Moment,
This Acceptance of Me,
Whole,
Not in parts,
I am no Jigzaw,,
I am the Painting,
Each stroke of brush has formed this Art that I am,
The bruises, the shrieks, the prayers,
The depths of the lakes which reside in my eyes,
My body; a fountain of Youth and Pain,
The cotton of my Skin and Hair, that was pulled to form the Canvas,
Like I was a Rag Doll,
I was not born with half limbs or missing toes,
Just without the capacity of being Loved, by those who possess my own flesh,
Simple,
Just a singed heart,
I am Elated,
Like the crescent Moon and her smile,
How she woos the Sun, over and over,
Night and Days pass,
As if ameshed into one Colour,
Time is no longer Linear,
Now , Freedom reaps from my every step,
The Thorns of Roses only teach me lessons,
Every blood that drips ,
Falls into Goblets where divine wisdom is drunk from,
And I am Intoxicated ,
From the Wine that has swooned like a river over my ankles, and that which runs over my body like Silk,
God is alive in my Bones,
And I am Alive in my Prayers to Him,
Ama’s in my Spine, and whilst she spins new webs into my skin,
Reading tasbeeh over every finger as she knits a tapestry of truth is written over my Back,
A new Story is beginning,
She,
Like the Others in my Domain,
are a reflection of the Divine.
Have you ever heard of Mothers or Lovers ,
Who turn their back on their Kin?
For Just Being.
My Existence has been Marked as Unholy since I was a Child,
As if Prayer was a Sin,
And I wore its Mask, unknowingly.
They Scar my Body, mainly my Heart
In attempt to Match theirs.
If I am Free,
Then who will Validate their Pain ?