Daddy issues

Image result for black man and daughter in black and white

Picture gotten from-Pinterest

There are three main things self-reflection may teach a patient mind: self-discipline, acceptance/openness and self-control. There are many ways people may choose to reflect which may either be loud or to the heart.

We are greater than the things we say for ourselves. We restrict our abilities to only what our eyes may have encountered and not fully with our minds and brains. We neglect the paths our hearts may create for us in thoughts of it being fragile and so delicate, forgetting that what’s broken may still be broken again in order for it to mend.

Submission

I’m very aware of reasons why feminists fight to be heard. I don’t blame extreme sexists that pull major chords as I’m intertwined in being non-feminist and sexist at the same time. I break a little when I watch things not add up with submission, when women are ridiculed about their softness. I’ve watched mum for years, I’ve seen loyalty, I’ve questioned her love. ¬†“How can a woman, so powerful, so filled with knowledge be this?” I’ve seen other women too. I’ve watched myself try to grow out of it but it’s a born ritual. It’s my own way of welcoming peace. It’s my only power over the other.

Trust

We can totally be honest with each other but lack this. We can hold hands, laugh, talk about the children and eat in good silence when we are certain about our distrust for each other. Evenings made me believe that the sun may rise at sunset. My sister and I would read conversations with words very familiar with love written by unfamiliar people. We would both lay under blankets and brew gossips about these evenings. We were soul sisters. We grew to hate what men that looked like this do. We still talk about it, we still cry a little over what we’ve known. It’s almost like disappearing from what seems to mean good because we weren’t shown how goodness can be trusted when it’s felt. It’s not normal to be thought of ¬†that way by another, I think every now and then.

I wish I have someone to blame everytime I choose to run with my eyes. I hope everyday for the day I was first heart broken by my eyes to be erased from my head. I don’t want to be reminded of being broken in a place that I should run to when I’m broken. I hate to talk about home to people that don’t feel like home, I don’t hate to run from home because of my eyes and the crotches it walks with when there. I hate the thought that the first man that warmed my hands when I came into this cold world stalls me from breathing into a certain type of peace I crave.

Daddy issues.

 

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2017

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One Man

Tell me once more, hidden

In every heart that I ever felt

The walk in a crescent path

Countless beyond doubt

That my reap opposes my sow?

Tell me again that I chose to

Fall, to stumble and fall again

Even when there are many of men

Under the sun and dancing in the rain

Would I be love’s judges?

Tell me thereafter when sorrow’s

cup pours, and my cheeks grow weary

That I was born not of Love but

Of the world and its apprentices

Shan’t I be the same?

One man taught me how to love

How love hates, how to be a woman

Even when the heart bleeds, I sing

Isn’t this more revealing than the word itself?

Man that I couldn’t forsake!

Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2015