Soliloquy Poem by D Loveday Morris

Soliloquy



I was walking on the road one day lost in my own thoughts, soliloquy and play.
Then, out of nowhere a beautiful little skinny girl no more than eight or nine years old ran to me will tears in her eyes and sadness in her voice.
'I am so tired of the questions, the stares and the judgement calls' she said.
Why am I constantly taken to the courtyards?
How did it become my responsibility to work and provide? Who am I? Am I not but a child?

Who am I? This is a question that was recently tossed in the courtyard of my mind, my heart. Yet why do you ask, I questioned myself? Is it that when you look at me you see someone else? And how is it that I am now to be obligated to answer your seemingly interrogating question? Am I to be the first to defend myself? Isn't this a question that should have been raised by and to someone else?

Under normal circumstances I probably would not say.
Yet, I am who I am from the day that I was made.
I was born to a chick who I believe was unprepared,
to take on the colossal task of caring for one so full of questions and needing so many answers.
Like, why is it that you never changed my diaper?
By the way, where is my father?
Is it not the right of every egg to have a rooster?
Why did I have to search for mine?
Should we not arrest those who deny us our bloodline?
Arrest them or arrest me for it is not the egg's responsibility
to prepare itself for the world to see.

Why was I denied the rights and privileges that comes with being a child?
I went to school once in a while during those formative years of life.
And when those adult questions came I had no choice but to choose an answer.
Did you ask those questions of your mother?
Did she ask those questions of her mother?
I think not. How could one who had so much be so poor a giver?

Yet even I know, there is more to a river than just mere water.
So, these very questions I also ask of my father...
Well, I believe I would and I wish that I could
But his light was disconnected before I got the chance
So now these questions have become like a chant

As I listened to her I could tell she was a really old soul
she was forced to grow up, she was forced to be bold
Yet I knew her story was not unique, for there are many in children's homes
so many on the streets
So I told her that her choices would take her to the future,
where she would have the opportunity to be a better mother
For there is no way that a chick can raise a child
And it takes a father, not a rooster
to want to be there for the tears and smiles of his son or daughter

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Dee Loveday
May 2013
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