Anew Innate

Innate.

I don’t want to be your innate

I’m just the first-born….

But you printed my name on that birth certificate

called me Dynahlee,

proceeded with some larger unique Star,

followed by Padilla.

I don’t want to be your innate

I’m just the first-born….

Who sweeps up dirt meddled with drama because of her siblings

Who mops up sticky floors from precipices of punishment because of secrets

Who vacuums up dust to package away evidence because of the beauty in the breadth of silence

All because you named me Star.

I don’t want to be your innate

I’m just the first-born…

Locked away from privileges of freeing, freedom, and being free.

Individuals everywhere are just like me.

Because they have to be:

Responsible for them to instill that incessant reputation

Mature enough for them to ensure that expected expectation

Ambiguous for them to conceal that unwanted and unworthy information

My label within their auras.

I don’t want to be your innate

I’m just the first-born…

Commended for my attributes that accentuate adoration.

So that your loving of my innateness

makes me feel like:

I was simply made for emulation,

a solid, sacred station

a proofread presentation

a cool, calm, collected creation,
Just to show others how to stand tall.

Because my innateness is overrated

To You,

Both.

I don’t want to be your innate

I’m just the first-born…

who you constantly call: your precious angel,

smarter daughter, beautiful writer,

genuine caregiver , bright hard-worker,

perfectly imperfect teacher, battling fighter,

stimulating innovator,  striving dancer

glistening orator,  channeling listener,

your 1st unfathomable bundle of joy,

So that I can continuously illuminate fierce fire in that blue space above.

I don’t want to be your innate

I’m only the first-born…

And if I was, am, or ever will be a Star,

there was no need for the printed version of

that stressful scar.

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