Monday, 16 July 2012

THE WRITE ROAD

I never really liked myself when I was growing up
Always felt like that drop of water left settled at the bottom of the cup
Unspoken for and ignored to be thrown out against the pavement
A mental enslavement to abandonment never endorsed.
My face embossed with tears, droplets dropping without remorse
Forced to merge with the forces of darkness with no true meaning of who I really was;
A girl undiscovered.
Night times caught me shivering without the cold but alone so I slept uncovered
Suffered to the bone and taunted by the shadows that hovered
Haunted by the ghosts of the unknown.
Most days were a daze treading passages built like a maze preceding my own amazement when I made it home
My bathroom mirror revealing a girl who stood inferior to her own reflection
Unforgiving to her errors oblivious to the greatness of her true person.
Confused by the blues of a girl standing in a woman’s shoes unable to choose the tools that separates her from the fools.
My heart beat me till I bruised.
The clock took stock of time with each tick tock interlocked with unwelcomed thoughts held deeper inside
My insides an intricate design of intestines and discomfort intertwined.
Those were the days of yesteryears when matter stood master over my mind.
Spent that portion of my youth in the pursuit of truth in all the wrong places I could find.
And then I wrote…
Morning came and joy did not always follow but I wrote away the sorrows and swallowed the reality pills held hostage in my throat
I stood president over my affairs when it became apparent that it only entailed that I afford myself the vote
Time after time of jotting my quotes in little notes encouraged the self actualization that I was more than I gave myself credit for
Ink gave me a platform to think and when I would close my eyes in a blink words instead of tears synced with my paper
Who knew a pen could mend the break in time unend and send the negativity away to fend for herself because I would no longer feed her
Not a writer, nor a poet, more of a thought projector
I write to bare my whole being just in order to protect her
If I were able to label these words I’d name them my soul protector.
My imagination bursts with color and relieves my thoughts of its solidarity to the comfort zone
Finally I’ve grown into my own and reaped some wisdom from what little seeds of words I have sown.

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