The grave yard showed shades of darkness that were in between life and death.
The streets showed me dripping blood oozing in corners that were flooded with sorrows and borrowed pain.
Uzile showed me the identity that could not be claimed by even those who claim to have fought for freedom.
I am who loves unconditionally.
I am who protects fused pieces of light that dim their clustered hearts.
I am the shield that Shaka Zulu used.
I am the words that philosophers use to mend souls that are baffled and blurred.
I am not what you think I am.
I am not what you want me to be.
But I am who I am with no crayons or mud on my face.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
The grave yard showed shades of darkness that were in between life and death.
The streets showed me dripping blood oozing in corners that were flooded with sorrows and borrowed pain.
Uzile showed me the identity that could not be claimed by even those who claim to have fought for freedom.
I am who loves unconditionally.
I am who protects fused pieces of light that dim their clustered hearts.
I am the shield that Shaka Zulu used.
I am the words that philosophers use to mend souls that are baffled and blurred.
I am not what you think I am.
I am not what you want me to be.
But I am who I am with no crayons or mud on my face.
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