THE SHE IN ME (CRAZY STANZAS)

The she in me
Is like a traveling soul
Stuck in a robbed hut
Needing hands to help her transport
Into a he frame
A he frame that can visit the gods

II
Who can blame her?
She too craves for a voice for choice
To exorcise loneliness
She too craves for the chance
To meet the sun
To get her own shadow
She too craves for a say
To jerk ears into attention
She too craves for more
Tongues know no she
Palmnut soup everyday
Can suffocate even its pots
She too craves
Craves to ride

III
The she in me
Needs to run and win
With no chest load causing a spin
Needs to swim after a dip
With no hidden snakes
Giving a chase
She too craves to sit
After a dig at a pit
With crossed legs
Hoping to turn shrine from evening to dawn
She too feels her blood boil
At all that heats
This she in me

IV
She is no pole a warrior stole
Neither is she a ball to roll
She is no mat to be stepped on
Nor a chamber pot to receive debris
The she in me weeps
Thinking its maker sleeps
This she…
Hmmmmm
Is it fit to be trapped?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016

Phot Credit: www.pinterest.com