That I won’t be seen
That I be too fleshy
for “pretty” to escape your
lips and land on my ears
That I be too nappy
for you to run your hands across
my scalp and your smile still exist
That I be too wordy
for you to get comfortable
in my presence
That I be too much
for this world and I’ll be
swallowed up and never
spit out.
It is in this fear
That the becoming
happens.
It is my words,
my flesh
my naps
that I live
and breathe
to give you me.
That, yes I am too much
much love,
much life,
much free.
Hold on for when
My winds blow
You will be uprooted.
And if you survive
there won’t be any more
compromise.
-Zainab Karim
