REFLECTIONS AND MIRRORS

                     

By  ODUKOYA GRACE OMOLOLA

   Bound to the invisible chains weighing me down

I tug helplessly like a zombie, looking back and forth

  Torn between being the perfect version of the “her” in their heads

  Or maybe the real “her” deep down that I maybe haven’t even realised

  Like a china doll with a smile plastered on her face, I wave like the illusion 

  Of perfection I seemingly symbolize

   My voice is barely more than whispers, never heard I am

 Smiling even amid fire, because that makes me a virtuous 

 woman

         I try so hard to scream but a tiny squeak comes out

         I am lost between a cage of the perfect daughter, mother, wife

   What about me?

         Aren’t I something without being attached to someone’s

  I thought so hard as I looked into the mirror

  If only I could speak louder and more often

  I looked at the crinkles in my eyes as I smiled

  A shadow of myself, I was

  When would my reflection show, who I really was?

I said ‘NO!’ for the first time in years, I felt scared yet excited

 It sounded foreign to my guts, I tried to backtrack

 But I stopped for a moment. ‘NO!’ I said again, this time, firmer

 Horrified, they gasped, some said it was a phase

 I had been corrupted, some said, and I’d come back to my senses

Happy I was, that I found the real ‘her’, excited to share ‘her’ with friends

 However, their disapproving looks made me wither

 Maybe it was not a good idea…lots of maybes

 I felt like I was trapped between two worlds, two bodies, two beings

 I look into the mirror, again, this time in exasperation

 Could I be ‘her’? 

Or was I just a blind product of the society, to follow blindly like a zombie

 I guess I would never know, the risk was just too much to bear

I have slipped back to the patterns of fear, doubt, and resentment.

Rage at the girl staring back in my mirror

Doesn't she know how to speak up? 

Or is she awaiting a prince charming?

I caress her face, tears sliding down my cheeks

We had started the journey, 'baby steps', they said.

One illusion of genuine and she relapsed

For the umpteenth time, I rehearsed  my lines

'Yes, Mother, I'll obey'

The only words she wanted to hear,

The words I offered on a plate of my sweat and blood

I wish I could stand up for myself

However my bravado lies in me, mud sticking on it

Or maybe I did not have any bravado, even faux

Maybe I was born, a spawn to obey, heads bowed down, tails beneath her legs, shivering as she lets them trample over her

I saw Layla, the other day, a beautiful meek and virtuous daughter

Her praises have been sung in my ears, that I know her eulogy

The one who is far beyond roses, rare to find...or maybe not

I saw her, no! a shadow of her

Nails painted blood red like the thirsty witch, rainbow extensions that fall to her waist

Where is she, the one my mother wants me to embody?

Far gone!

Mother says she is on the path to destruction

MY head agrees in a up-down motion

But my heart yearns to taste the freedom of choosing her path and owning the consequences