For the Record

Today, I pen this for the records and not for the “Records.” 

For I do not comprehend the Records. 

How do I make sense of the Records? 

I am invisible in the Records. 

The Records ignore me. 

The Records forget me. 

The Records failed to accept and acknowledge me. 

I am but a plant in the Records, existing with so much impact yet barely recognized. Why then would I write for the Records? 


So I write for the records. 

I am invincible in the records. 

I am never subdued in the records. 

The records regard me. 

I am a functional woman in the records. 

One with will, zeal, and impact. 

For I documented part of the records. 

Why then would I not write for the records? 


I study the Records. 

For years, I have studied the Records. 

I have watched, read, and seen myself ignored. 

In theaters, libraries, and museums, 

And like a beggar, I have received scraps, 

These scraps of recognition, 

As a result of my lamentations and questions, 

Why am I being ignored in the Records?


So I sow a seed of remembrance, 

That blossoms into a tree, 

One that is revered for its existence and impact. For I, for womanhood, 

For the entirety of women, 

That I am never forgotten, 

Never ignored. 

For I in Gaza, and in Pakistan, 

In DRC, 

In Sudan, Syria, Somalia, 

In places that are not mentioned. 


I am you and you are I, 

For I is universal and I transcends time boundaries, I symbolize continuity, 

I transcends skin color and languages, 

I is a collective, a collective larger than systemized exclusion, I is a voice, a voice louder than patriarchy, 

I must not be ignored or forgotten. 

So I write for the records, 

As the records is the future. 

Where I am heard and seen, 

I write for the records, 

In order to leave the Records in the past, 

Exactly where it belongs.

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