Come and be the daughter she deserves. Come be words, laughter, hugs, gossip and comfort. Come hold her as he reminds her skin of what whips felt like on cotton plantations. Come be the soothing oil you will later rub on her skin as you convince her of better lives and heavens that hold their arms open for female warriors.
Do not come and be silence. I know she hates my silence more than she dislikes my words. Do not attempt to cover her words with the emptiness I seem to bring with my being. Do not be the dirt in between not well washed forks on dinner tables. Do not be the shame they hesitate to mention during prayer incase the good lord neglects to answer. Do not dare come and be freedom. Do not come and be the un-known. Do not embody otherness. This will scare them. This will push them away. They will look for bible verses to chase your enlightenment away.
Do not be me. Do not be a writer. Do not say, “i write for a living”. Do not tell them how books make more sense to you than having conversations with them or any one else for that matter. Do not attempt to explain solitude because they will not try to grasp how one can love their solitude more than they love companionship. Do not dare reject their religion, do not remind them that you are your own person and that your beliefs matter lest they say, “you are selfish” and give you a sermon on how all your life they have taught you to be the right person and all you have turned out to be is this.
This failure at daughterness. This failure at being a photocopy. Somehow the copy machine did not get you right and they are only smudges of them on your sheet but not whole words or images. Instead you chose a different printer, with a different pattern, some colours here and there, some images, some words too.
To be different is to be alone even in the midst of people who “love” you. To be different is to be alone in the midst of people that will love you for being who they are.