Sing a song for me, my friend. A song that moves the soul to frenzy bend. A song of truth and tune of blues. Let me dance my best steps in the land of hues. The land against my feet, Play me a melodious beat.
Sing a song for me, my friend. A song of our rich history, we could never lend. Sing a song to me, my dear. Let others join this dance without fear. Use the talking drums and rocky xylophones. Let me dance to the tunes in my new agbada, in the beats of our own. Let chiefsmen sit and listen to the drumsmen's beats. Let the Kings and Queens, Elders and citizens, Sit to withness our rich culture. Let is remind them of what history truly means.
In the poem a mother and father talk to their young, questioning daughter about family life, and say nothing helpful for her growth. Her parents loved her, but they still did everything wrong. My name's Michelle. Nicknames in childhood were things like Meesh, Micha, and Meeshee. I find them all infantilizing now, except in certain contexts. We are not children anymore, you will not talk to me like one. #pod#poem#song#music#trauma#past#mentalillness@miraquill@writersnetwork@writersbay