Black Girl’s Sonnet
Why was there no plan for
My hand not betrothed,
My path not paved?
The future is not mine to see
Despite all, love I still crave
Bride price cannot be promised
I make haste and do not arrive
The elders demand homage
Dreams have been endowed, and thrive
The withdrawal is rhetoric
Cleopatra, Sheba buried with the crown
I am becoming historic
My brow creased with a frown
Bareheaded, barefoot and prancing
I am devising while dancing.
iamsherleyfierce 
A blank page for a life, where it falls on no one else but us, to write on, IS both a lofty-grand-scary blessing, as well as a paralyzing bane. The heart of this piece is very familiar to me, and I would bet speaks to many others. You self-awareness, though, evident in your language, is your strongest weapon. Keep wielding it.