The saint vs the Master of her Melody

Like one looks at a thief that has been caught red-handed

He looked at me after our sing-off session

I could hear his thoughts the way his eyes took measures of my words

Weighing my story stone for stone…

“Is it true is it true? Has she ever been robbed?”

Suddenly he was the drunken Saint condemning me for taking ownership of my own body. “how dare she sing along?” Up and down he looked at me and I could hear his thoughts loud and clearly. “If… if it’s true that she has been robbed before, then how could she… how dare she sing along to my song?”

Dude I said to him, dude it’s not a puzzle! did you skip biology? We are designed to respond well to a wanted embrace. Or did you snore through the study of history? (I spoke only in my mind because back then I was so little in my own being. I thought the vaws and choosing no money for a dowry would make me be an admirable wife.)

I am a human, a woman. What are we if not survival beings? Robbed or stabbed if we are meant to be don’t we humans know how to exist before we learn how to live.

how many of us walk in life while limping in pain just to dance for joy the very next day?

His conclusion was; a robbed jewel should never sing along to any song. But a robbed jewel discovered without her, there would be no song to sing to.

I decided it was enough. No more subtitles to my misery. I don’t need a translator I know my own body. I told him to listen if you can’t tell by my rhythms then listen to me. I am the master of my melody. Out of tuned vessels can’t enter my castle. Be United with your essence in order to rest by my nest.

I invite only well do-ers. Yes, I have been robbed therefore I take precautions. see, my body my vessel is where my soul dwells. My peace did not come easy. No secondhand smile, or halfway love, or uncertain soul about himself and his undealt with traumas, is going to cage me in a self-hating arrangement and call it a living.

I didn’t judge you by the green river you drank to quench your thirst with. I figured life has dealt you, your share of darkness… And with time with care and my love you would no longer need to drown your sorrow… Naitivity and optimism don’t always do right by us…

But oh but How dare you try to pin a shame on me that didn’t belong to me? Shame me for taking ownership of my own body? My body Each scar is named after a star. My body my canvas I paint on it to reassure it. My treasure with painful past. Again and again, I introduce peace to it.

Up and down you looked at me trying to make sense of me. But I have done my homework. I know I am meant to sing along when I am the inspiration.

When I am the instrument you played to create music, your muse your lyrics. My music my song my body and voice all in harmony, all deserving of love and admiration.

There is no thief caught red-handed it’s my henna just me the beautiful jewel of a woman under construction.

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