By Jaleesa Escott
Someone called me beautiful and I instantly heard a ticking.
A switch, a change from girl to woman.
An excuse to push an agenda my small hands hadn’t yet the comprehension skills to understand.
Someone told me I could have a baby, and the ticking got louder. They call it a clock, serving as overseer to my one true calling. mother nature, as cruel as she can be. Don't be selfish, women shouldn't wait too long to have a baby. Can't nurse no child at the old breast; what good is the womb if not used to serve all of humanity? How selfish of me.
Oh to be young and a woman.
Blood covers all my decisions. It's a damn if you do, damn if you don't kind of riddle. A doctrine formed of male tongues, no wonder I can't grasp the language. No wonder, my voice sounds foreign in my own ears. Maybe that's why, Your god, can't understand me.
Oh to be young and woman.
Time is an enemy when the world tells me that as it ticks along my value will depreciate.
Like I'm an object and less than at the same time.
The Mona Lisa has lived for 521 years and is worth 860 million.
I have lived for 30 years, and yesterday, I heard someone's son say that women in their 30s were half off. The ignorant voice of his fathers before him climbed up his throat as if to say that women were no more than cattle to be sold and purchased.
On a scale of living, breathing women to the Mona Lisa, where must I fall to gain my own humanity? To have value no man can tax. To be timeless, to just be a human.
The Mona Lisa is a work of art, you say. A delicately crafted item, with details thousands pay to see and rediscover.
I am a work of art, I say. Crafted by the only true maker, I am full of breathtaking details yet to be discovered. I am also full of color, yet to be savored and worshiped, like the color purple.
Am I not beautiful? Exciting, the type of art that gives back to the viewer. When was the last time the Mona Lisa wrote a speech, fought off her attacker, survived the abuse, closed the deal, raised the child, and started the company? When was Mona Lisa ever human, and yet you say she is worth more than me?
Oh to be young and a woman.
It is to have the world try to dictate your path and have the courage to defy it. The courage to not let a system built on your weakness control your own body. It is to own your own damn body.
To house dreams that were buried deep inside of me. Dreams that my mothers cried, and fought and died for. Dreams that they watch me carry. While they whisper prayers to a God they can't see. Bless her Father, keep her afloat; she holds our hope in the pit of her chest. All of our longing was in the bottom of her stomach. All of our blood beneath her feet to show her where we have been and will not go back to.
To be young and a woman.
It is to be a paradox—an intangible being, a mixture of all the world's fears it can not control. It is to stand with eyes placed on time and show no fear, no relinquish of hope ever ceasing. It is to be bold enough to see the life others planned for you and to choose your own dreams. It is to live your life to the fullest with every breath you have, even if you don't fit the standard dream.
Oh to be young and a woman.
It is an ever-flowing fountain of possibilities.
Oh to be a woman.
It is something I will always be proud to be.
Jaleesa W. Escott, is an artist from Birmingham, Alabama. Among writing poetry, Jaleesa has also written stage and directed plays and is working on publishing a book of poetry this year
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