My Game, Your Rules

Picture eight-year-old me,

Paint smudges on my bronze cheeks.

They said make a self-portrait,

So why did I pick up the peach crayon?

I signed my stories

“Alexandra Brown”

But the only thing

Brown about me

Was my

Skin.

It’s funny: they say,

“Creativity is freedom”

But

I’m still colouring inside your lines.

I let your language

Colonize my thoughts;

I’m still

Dependent

On you

For expression.

I am fluent in you

But you

Aren’t fluent in me.

It’s my turn to use you:

Your language but

In my words, spreading my messages.

You’re just a tool, a vessel

(I wonder how it feels?);

Maybe creativity is

Freedom

(Happy Independence Day).


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