When my world seems bleak, I reach into the
crevices of my soul and expel all my grievances on a silver
platter to my ancestors.
I bow before them in respect as I pull at my flesh in disdain
for my humanity.
My heart dances to the vibration of distant drums thumping
beneath my feet.
My hair folds and curves like tree branches reaching for the
heavens.
My soul is on fire, filled with glory. I am holy in their
presence. I am a god. I am a totem of love.
My ancestors have bestowed blessings upon me.
I walk with pride, for they rose above every adversity and
carved a dimension where I can be divine.
They did not break.
They bent like reeds in water and found their way back
upright.
Their resilience is my inheritance. Their silence holds more
power than any word ever spoken against them.
I am the earth and everything within it.
The jewels of my imperfections are to be refined
and witnessed, for they are a reminder of my human
aberrations. I carry them on my back with honor, for they
have given me a reason to live.
I bleed and I mend and I bleed again,
and each time I rise I carry more of them with me.
Their names live in my bones. Their prayers echo in the
hollow of my chest. I am my ancestors, and I am here to
proclaim their truth.