I find that it is easy to blame you, 

Every deeper-rooted insult, foreign and familiar, names you throw at me 

It’s easy to blame you for the backward way you think, everything you say 

Really, I know it’s a reflection of everything they’ve done to you 

A man who gives you a singular purpose, 

A mother who has succumbed to the opinions of those around her, 

A world that denies your complexities and facets, your flaws, and your perfections 

I am able to see now, somewhere along the 

barraging unsolicited opinions, 

the ruthless expectations created, you’ve internalized what they’ve done to you,

I find myself pausing, 

before saying something that will not disappear, 

to consider what your eyes have seen, 

what your ears have heard, 

what your body has endured, 

My anger has faded to admiration