I, Reclaimed!

Street art in Valparaiso, Chile by Mr. Papillon

I, Reclaimed!

I reclaim my hands and feet from the restraints of your protection. 
My arm from your grasp to keep me from falling. 
I am grateful you taught me how to walk, 
but now I demand let go, I dream of flying.

I reclaim my body from being violated by your unwelcome commentary. 
The size of my young breasts that you compared to lemons. 
I reclaim my weight from your constant vigil
and your words that make me fat or flabby.

I reclaim my voice from being drowned under
your monologs of how I did and did not; what I should and should not. 
Forgive me, but my needs will now be louder than your need to speak.

I reclaim myself from your expectations 
that got conceived in your womb with me; 
that are reminders of how you labored to bring me into this world 
and also your prerogative to make me of it.

I reclaim my sexuality from being robbed by your honor. 
My pleasure from your guilt. My orgasms from your satisfaction in prudence. 
I reclaim my primal desire from your judgment forever.

I reclaim my sisterhood from the seeds of competition you sowed long before we could even know. 
I reclaim that love from the weeds that keep growing and creep up as disguised attempts to win your liking.

I reclaim my ambitions and aspirations from yours. 
You are politely asked to seize living your lost dreams, unfulfilled desires through me. 
My soul’s nourishment now is more urgent to me than fulfilling your destiny.

I reclaim my heart from the burden of your fears, insecurities, your pain. 
I will gladly walk with you, both, bearing our burden, 
but don’t mistake this companionship as an offering to walk in your stead.

I reclaim my DNA as collateral for all the debts you say I owe. 
I did not invite you to parent me, it was a privilege you chose. 
Anything I offer in gratitude of your parentage will be a privilege for me to take.

I reclaim the blood that runs in my veins from its traces in yours, your parents, your brothers and sisters and other far off relations. 
No! Not they, not you, no-one anymore, can use a shared source to determine my course.

I reclaim my identity from being just your offspring.
You are gravely mistaken to think yourself a coauthor,
for it is me who feels, breathes and lives in my body
and shapes the poetry of my story.

To dispel the darkness do I dare pen these words, if it pricks, it is only to let some light in.
The blindness you feel, pray don’t yet blame onto me. Trust me, it is momentary.

Dear Parents, I am here to reclaim a few things that were mistaken as yours to keep, as we share this lifelong bond so sweet. If this reclamation makes our bond sour, pray, just be patient, for the glorious and eternal aftertaste.

Look, how each word, each sentence is slowly scattering the pain within our story. And as we stand freer, fuller, lighter — We reclaim our sight together and now can truly see each other.