They wanted me to be A.
Perfect.
Approved.
Something that fit
on a form.
But I was B.
Bent.
Beginning again
before I finished the first line.
I tried to become C,
containing myself,
cutting the corners off my hunger,
avoiding D…
the fear
of being done
before I was known.
E
was never easy.
Nothing essential ever is.
So F
taught me how to fall
without breaking
into pieces I couldn’t return from.
G was labelled good,
rewarded for obedience.
H was crowned hero,
loud enough
to be seen
but not heard.
I carried ideas like fire,
but they branded me J.
A joke.
A meme.
Something passed around
without being held.
Never K.
Never a king.
Just a character
they could skip.
L lived in my heart,
but love stayed M.
Momentary.
Warm hands.
No promise
to remain.
N
never learned
the shape of no,
so it kept saying yes
until it disappeared.
And O…
O was omnipresent.
Not in the sky.
Not in sermons.
Not in answers.
But watching.
Waiting.
Breathing
from inside me.
That was the moment
I realized
I was not broken…
I was becoming.
P
kept pushing me
toward the Question,
the one without applause,
the one no one could answer for me.
And R…
reckless,
sometimes ruthless,
but flowing like a river
that didn’t ask permission
to move.
I stopped fighting the current
and learned
to flow.
S
shifted my perception.
The world didn’t change.
I did.
T
teamed up with truth,
and truth
didn’t need defending.
U
taught me
I am more
than fragments,
more than letters,
more than what survived.
V
was victory.
Not over people.
Not over power.
But over the voice in my head
that kept whispering:
kneel.
W
gave my mouth words
that fit my breath.
X
turned noise into rhythm,
pain into pattern,
living into music.
Y
yapped
just to be heard,
because silence
had raised me
for years.
And Z…
Not an ending.
A quiet zeal.
No applause.
No altar.
Just enough fire
to stay standing
when no one
is watching.
Because in the end
I was never the alphabet.
I was
the voice
learning
how to speak.
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