I desire to know the voices of my own, To hear answers to questions that have never been asked To know narratives of my lineage that are lost to me The lives of my women whose stories have only been told secondhand to the men she nurtured in her bosom  I ask Who did you cry to in a world where dark women are the shoulders to be cried on, and the shoulders to be climbed on? What is like it when the work on the field was done and the emasculated needed their fill of worth? Where were you when the thick lipped became thinned at the expense of your freedom; When the lyrics of abolition rang but the songs of enfeebled men was all that was sung in your home; When the violence endured came from ivory chants and ebony melodies; When you were the most exponential voice of a movement but the most linear in its forthtelling; When your duality was patronized, an abandoned issue for the breeze; When your liberation was a gift given by a brother, only unlocked by his key; When the choice had to be made: my womanhood or my blackness? When… and when? Why do they not know that each burden is the same, that neither is first nor last, but inconceivable equal? And how? How were able to see value in yourself when the world that values you the least? As time continues, I desire to know the voices of my own To know answers to questions that have never been asked To examine the narratives of my lineage that are lost to me and that are found to me The lives of women whose stories are currently being told secondhand to the men who promised her freedom. ***