I place fabric over my skin not to cover up but to glorify.
I am independent, powerful.
I ask not for your attention, nor your comments, but rather that you respect my fabric and its contents.
You may look but not touch, for a landscape should remain uncultivated until it is ready for such.
I sculpt my own landscape upon the foundations of life and human beauty that were gifted to me,
and I build myself a fortress of power, held up by my faith and humility.

My sisters walk your streets scared of being ‘adored’ by not your eyes but your hands,
though we all still believe there are those who do understand
and will protect us at every cost, because they know the value of us when we are lost, amongst the dishonouring of us that their brothers forced.
I will no longer shield myself from a roving eye. I will not be ‘cherished’ by a wandering hand. You may like what you see, but that image is not me.
I lie below the skin that my fabric caresses, the fabric that your eye so easily undresses.
I lie amid thought, wisdom and thought; I am no longer a product that can be sold or bought.
I rest amongst flowers and my soul’s peaceful winds, waiting to see the greatness of change that my tomorrow brings.