A friend once told me that a real writer reveals their wounds and creates them into a masterpiece.

A friend once told me that a real poet creates illusions within emotions to words.

A friend once told me that a strong woman knows how to conquer even when their fears tend to evolve.

A friend once told me that a real black woman takes their melanin and sprinkles a little magic everywhere they go.

A friend once told me that a real visionary sees and then executes.

How can I be a hypocrite to my set values? 

“She was powerful, not because she wasn’t scared but because she went on so strongly, despite the fear.” – Atticus 

The reflection of my life has been seen as perfection, however, it has not been no crystal stair. I have fought with spiteful sinners leaving scars of victory. My heart has been used and abused leaving my wounds vulnerable to those who may enter or pass by. I am the result of a beautiful mind embodying Black intellects. I am a poet with the spirit of Angelou, Morrison, and Lorde. I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams. I am a daughter of a split decision causing my life to live in a suitcase. I am the daughter of evolution. I am a sister to the world. I am powerful, but I am scared. I, the welcoming poetess, writer, visionary, and transformer, am scared of her ability. 

Reject is defined as to refuse to accept, consider, submit to, take for some purpose or use. Someone whom I love said recently, “Daya is always rejected.” This one word caused a spiraling effect due to rejection being both my blessing and curse. Rejection comes when the battle of oneself is not completed. I had to realize that I will never be enough until I was enough for myself. I have walked in rooms, and have been told “no” or “let’s try this again.” As I was stretching my abilities to go beyond the ordinary. At a young age, due to my life’s journey, I realized that I can no longer be classified as ordinary, but only rare. The stretching of my abilities sometimes made my form break down into pieces, striking pains caused discomfort. However, I knew where I was and where I wanted to be. 

This is my curse. Rejection caused my fear of love. To think that I am so young with my life planned to the core, and one of my fears is that I will never share the real affection of Eros. Constantly, meeting the criteria of a real woman, but it never seemed to be enough to take it one step further with love. Men recycled me when they so choose, always making me the last choice. However, I refuse to be a choice to being compared to the most ordinary of all women. Successful, but lonely. Whole, but somehow still empty. 

This is my curse. Rejection caused my fear of success. Being successful is at the palm of my hand. However, by word of mouth I refuse to call it what it has been longing to be named. It’s hard to classify the emotion that evolves within my being that is making me refuse to acknowledge my success. I was taught to remain humble, and complete life’s course. However, I do not know how to celebrate myself when I deserve to. The days where I have gone without sleep to make my dream a goal and then to reality deserve to be recognized. 

This is my blessing. Rejection caused me to be aware of my process of healing. When Eros cannot fill my half filled cup, instead of pouring hatred and heartbreak, I pour self love instead. Because everyone knows, if you don’t love yourself, how do you expect someone to love you? My accomplishments have started to be the beginning of breaking the chains of my generational cycles. My accomplishments have made the mark for others to follow. Being the embodiment of a strong black woman is realizing that it is okay to be human. Being a visionary causes one to see what others may not ought to think about. Being a visionary causes one to change the narrative. 

This is the truth. This is me.