in its subtle form it years to speak

through a medium, a message

enclosed in doubt

it desires to break free

the chain holding back a weary tongue

water flowing red, a braid coming undone

no one comprehends the area of imperfection

nor the silent cry of wont of encouragement


does the burden of expectation not weight you down?

the standards formulated

by the choices made to challenge

by decisions created to

‘make me better’

a need to be accepted for my flaws

not to be esteemed so highly

not to be above yours

you think; to me this is a game

but my heartbeat is not a book

it is not movement in frames


where is my worth?

what am I expected to gain?

I bleed crimson

my blood too leaves a stain






confining me

to a number,


and for once listen

to me cry



but an end is there

a voice for me to stop,

to stop believing that I am defined by a letter.

I am not labelled by ink on parchment

but by the title I carry








“Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.”

Isaiah 43:1

Daughter of the Most High.


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