Freedom Is your Entitlement
I was naïve to fall in love with ‘absolutes.’
I should’ve known everything of beauty is flawed.
They did a favour they said.
By empowering me.
The penetrating facades of ‘wild and free’
An insipid flavour camouflaged ‘liberty.’
When all I did
Was to live by their choice.
The truth is dredged up
When you fight alligators of darkness.
Freedom is not delegated
It’s a loving connection that lets me be…
A thread is enough to cover my body.
Like a sentinel guarding its exclusivity.
A ‘ravening look’
Your ribald charm
Goes out cold unless
It drums up a gorgeous chaos in me.
Then you are invited to seal up my orifice
In your buttermilk.
A loving act defined by
The freedom of my choice.
Hoping for ‘absolutes’
Is like chasing a dream.
Searching for a ‘grotto of hope’ in a graveyard.
Don’t think my freedom is a boarding pass
To your delicious sense rolled flight.
Unless your soul rides my heart.
Till when you stay
Is a boundary defined by the freedom of my choice.
Please let it be that way.
Otherwise it’s quite a task
Clearing maggots of memory
And hiccups of times gone slippery.
I have learnt to trip the light fantastic.
I truly dance to my toes
When I ensure another’s freedom.
Being a woman it’s the most unsullied DNA thread
To be passed on to my child.
I mustn’t forget to tell the young life
Freedom hurts. At times freedom is fate.
At times it’s silence.
At times it’s a simple breath.
Child when you grow up you’ll do stupid jobs.
You’ll work extra hard. You’ll justify.
You’ll beg to get noticed.
However, your eyes will tell the story of the ripped stitch.
A punch of conscience will take you back to your mom’s classroom.
The learning of transference back in the womb.
Freedom is the tenth ripped stitch
That if sewed back on time … saves rest nine.
It’ll be the same story
In church, work, vacations, cruises, dates, Tinder, Ashley Madison sex inventory.
You’ll hope to be noticed. ‘Please accept me! I’m worth your approving gaze!’
On your eighteenth birthday your ‘ole mom’ will tell you a story.
You’ll look with piqued interest and I’ll proceed like a savant.
Don’t let life be a patchwork of piercing memories.
Forget the ‘absolutes’ in your personal diary.
They’ll never find place in the parchment page.
Ever be kind to yourself dear.
Let ‘em’ not fool you.
You can’t be an ‘absolute’ stunner.
An ‘absolute’ radiance, a diva in your summer gown
Dropping to the floor in rustling kisses.
You can’t be an ‘absolute’ feather quill Goddess
Writing Sufi poetry, reading the runes
Divining what it takes to make the perfect love story.
You can’t be an ‘absolute’ professional legacy.
Dressed sharp as a pin, tossing leather bound books, giving bright eyed commentaries.
An ‘absolute’ lover, an ‘absolute’ wife, an ‘absolute’ mother, an ‘absolute’…fairy
Befana, Rhiannon … have I missed yet other ‘absolute’ identity?
Fool yourself no more.
Like once your mother, this good ‘ole’ woman did.
You are not meant to be
Clones of ‘absolutes.’
These ‘absolutes’ poach your free spirit away.
Stitch your hurt in time to save nine.
Be a ‘pistol woman’
Guard your freedom.
I’ve never raised you to be a clone of ‘rectitudes.’
I’m here to remind you.
Only your freedom is ‘absolute.’
The kicking the vibrant.
The subtle the surreal.
The unique the universal.
And when I pass it to you like a tradition.
I expect you to live it like a boss, preserve it and pass it on to the
Seed of your womb.
In turn, don’t forget to tell my grandchild
Gram’s says, “Don’t fall in love with ‘absolutes.’
You’ll be flawed beyond repair.
Embrace your freedom.
All of life’s entitlement lies there.
Freedom becomes an ‘Act’
My prettiest pretty.
If you ensure another’s freedom
By passing on to them the freedom of choice.’