We are called to walk in the Spirit,
yet a nameless grip keeps steering our feet astray.
That’s when we go searching for willpower
for dominion over the sights before our eyes
and the thoughts we let rise in our minds.

We may think we’re always right
but if that were true,
every person would claim the bench of Chief Justice,
or worse, the throne of Chief Lawless.

Casting my yarns of many colors in turns,
Hoping my yearning earns what I thirst for.
The fire took advantage—
Burnt fiercely, feeding on my resentment like hay.
Painful hatred made me its subject,
Letting fear delay the beat of my heart.

Through the flame, I saw only bloodshot reflections—
A version of me I barely recognized.
My nose flared, carrying anger down the walkway,
While deception dressed as truth passed by.

Why does the light shine on my shadowed scars?
Why does my retina reflect a bloodied knife?
Why can’t I sleep with my eyes closed
When even the sun can rest?

Am I healing, or dying?
Even if it’s only an echo
That dares to beat a drum and whisper healing—
Let it speak.
Maybe then, the vengeful color in my pupils
Will soften into something human again.

I just need one voice to reach deep,
To say:
“Your scars are proof you healed.”

CHAINS
I was stuck in the jungle
Being ******* like Pringles
Watched all day and night by hidden an eagle
I cannot even mumble.

I was bonded with chains
Shivering in pains
I am not able to wash stains off
That unleashed scars that cannot be erased

Respect, dignity and virginity
was all lost with intense atrocity
The atmosphere was filled with tears from wavering souls
All our virtue, they stole.