Tattooed on my skin for threatening its permanence would be to sin.
I want to be the mockingbird and sing the melody. The music not to raise alarm, forever never meaning harm, the sweetest sounds in one.
She sung the song of sixty. Pray, I hope it fixed thee the same as I, at sixteen where empathy was taboo. Dear Boo, I understand you better. No one ever need be fettered for their peaceful, unique soul. I confess I chain myself at times for love that seems too whole.
But with love I won’t grow tight. Send my heart into flight. I want the mockingbird’s height, however small her body be. Be she free so humbly.
I will be the mockingbird of grace and good example. For hate’s the world’s worst fever and intolerance, too ample.
I want the will of Atticus; to see with Scout’s compassion;
to learn Jem’s gentle patience; feel with Dill’s whole heart for life.
Send your song out, little bird, so love like this may fill me. I never once fell for a story more. Fell for words with magic in them, wished to forge my passage with them. I too, could inspire.
So oh, dear mockingbird, give me power on the page. Let my sentences be sage and full of heart for that’s what made me start hoping that one day, possibly, I might write as strongly as Ms Lee.