I am so tired of battling with who I am.
I want to come back into my own self. My bosom places sweet beckoning upon its lips. We have survived it all so far. Somehow. And there is more still.
I sacrifice the remains of my self-hatred to something that shapes itself like deity.I am tired of wearing these ill-fitting untruths on me, I no longer revel in their weight.
After, when all that is left on the alter is ash and whispers of memory, I will offer the remnants to the sea, to turn into something worth using. The sea is known for healing, after all.
With the cleansing of flame, I am born anew. I have atoned. Enough. Enough with the self-punishment. I have more than paid for my sins, the real and imagined both.
I finally see me. The stuff I am made of. I have turned blades into a blooming garden.
Wakonyo A. Gachanja