Her story begins where her mother’s ended
She tries to occupy and conceptualize the idea,
that her history,
and each step she takes to escape leads to her life being
SHE is not SHE is not HE is not HER, what’s the word? It’s called, identity
And it’s gone, it was never there.
She’s been searching for it, since her body abandoned her brain in her homeland.
Man, they captured her gems and jewels, used their psychological tools to abuse and left her stranded and used.
Used goods with no companion that can stand to see the one they love
She bounces back each time, still keeping in mind that she lacks,
Of it all,
and her body’s begun to stall in response to each command she’s been given.
The mental burden of her ancestors has driven her to become numb.
She refuses to come, and bring every aspect of herself to the surface, because
No one else is worth it.
But she fronts like she’s got a thirst for it. She’ll work for it,
Serve others while her other half is left in the dirt, It seems like she lost her mind but just in time she decided to rhyme
Identity with Imagine.
These two words continue to flow from her pores with swords of hope and faith.
But even her faith was stolen, something artificial was introduced with the support of self-hate.
But wait? She thought she was free, sadly she thought wrong, and the shackles of her brain remain on.
Her heart continues to follow those distant sounds of a home, unknown.
This home which she thought she could call the motherland
But even they don’t want her coming back with her baggage
She’s been searching for something,
Something that can tell her where she comes from and what she is.
Because textbooks don’t explain unwanted pregnancies and unwanted kids
She’s tried to ignore it, but it’s hard to ignore yourself
Each time she sees her reflection, she’s reminded of their stealth
The ways in which they carefully made sure there would be no security for generations to come
A lack of clear minds and broken homes for unborn daughters and unborn sons
Can afford to lie to themselves
Place you’re made up lies on history’s dusty shelves
Take these lies weaved through your brain,
And make the knots undone
Something other than what history has made you out to be
did a job on us
Do not minimize the effect of their whip
That broke through the still air,
while in the womb, her baby still kicked
If we are talking about a mission accomplished, I think an award is in order
Because false Order in a court room still has not changed my similarity to the mortar
History is the pistol, and it attempts to grind the motivation present in my mind
It seems that I have forgotten why I must live
Why when times get rough, that’s the best time to give
Why my duty will always be to the womb that bore me
Why I’m up here in the first place to tell you this story
Of a girl who’s name remains a mystery
May be laced with inflicted misery
But the strength of her true faith
Motivates her to prevail,