As an African woman,
Found in a land where shades of skin are nurtured into diverse colours like chameleon.
I am Perceived as the most endangered species in the world,
Where all the ideologies supposedly cooped for my protection
Are consciously made into a certain barrier,
ditching my liberty into dust.
African woman is cradled with culture conditions,
l am forced daily to lick the wounds of every rules in the religion dogma,
the tradition construct and the chauvinistic nature of men.
This life has made me to taste the brimful definition of pain
liken to a horrific dilemma felt when birthing another life…
Yet they cast me aside as though my life is anything less
She is weak, they echoed with their deepest voice
Yet l am portioned with a labour
heavier than their manly strength.
As an African woman,
l have tasted the tip of dead as l walk through its shadow
paved down by the social norms of the land.
Don’t cheat,it is not a woman’s game.
Don’t talk, your words don’t matter
And with this malicious act,
l am gun down with words,
shredded in parts through lust,
tattooed with eternal marks of seemingly emotional love,
fumed up with trauma heavier than my soul.
In the religious fold where my spirit should be protected
l face discrimination in the clothes l house,
l am tap to dance in certain way,
restricted to exploit my feminine traits
and muted by the church doctrine.
An African woman can only grace the floor of the church
while the hill is left for manly folks.
They say women are meant to be silent like grave yards
awaiting its keeper
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Yet through my adversity l have learnt to give a smile as an African woman
whose strength cannot easily be quenched down by the giants on the land
As an explosive bomb endowed with millions of fissile elements
l have leant to find my voice and empower my feminine power
Which skyrocket the grace that magnets anything l stare at
I am an African woman,
l can do anything at a tick of a clock
With multiple hands and l conquer any fear
Through my in born influence and courage.
Even though l am Locked off from democratic power,
l make a way to be their wives, influencing certain rules to my delight
and still make a queendom out of my tiny carved up quarters.
Seen as an erotic poem, have been exchange with mints
as one of the commodities in market but still l maintain my silence
while creating a world of mine through seductive moves …
After all, no golden silence can go no wrong.
I may play by the rules but at the end of the day
It is an owned game,
Still l am an African woman who put her soul in things
Going beyond them to achieve a goal
I give a chuckle as l face grieve
Knowing that I can win through their manly rules
Just because l am governed with the spirit
of an African woman