I'm not brave, never was and never will be any scars I have are hidden in deep dungeons somewhere in the vast open spaces of my mind They are too deep to dig out and analyse. Even try. There are no medals blistering my breast pocket
No name shouted from pulpit or podium No one cheering academic prowess scars of poverty or pain or orphan splendour at tender twelve Christmases all those scars buried under the skin, and swept out of sight on the watching life. There were many watchers.
Not brave pushing boundaries I learnt my visual language off graffitied walls and bart simpson.
No I was not brave, when I arrived here with a shirt on my back and a two dollar back pocket bus ticket. Come on you got to be joking, for switching countries, continents and communities to earn a square meal.
See what I mean? I'm not brave, riding morning evening traffic with ten thousand automissiles coming at me daily I'm not brave when I scoff a whole chocolate cake without counting the calories or checking that waistline or watching Dr Oz rave on about nuts fruits ***** and berries. Its on the rare occasion I get brave and take notes!
No Im not brave at all. I'm a coward that hides behind brave people who have 9-5 jobs, wear white skins to work, white collars and smile behind white sparkling teeth with red ties dripping in ****** racist jibes of inequality. No I'm not brave being 65 and hiding 65 thousand racist comments under scars covered by moisturisers white shirts and dark glasses in the searing heat of society.
I am brave when it comes to using words that hide behind lace-like feathery curtains of verses and rhythms that sing along to everything I write.