There were four bodies, walking in one line towards me.
It was a bridge, a dark bridge inviting fear to overtake me.
I was on my phone...What was I thinking being on the phone
whilst walking alone?

They first walked towards me with innocence and poverty written in their eyes,
there were lies waiting, perhaps hoping I could give them what they wanted.
Like the idiot I was I allowed them to corner me,
they cornered me like shadows leaving no space for light.

I held on tightly of the strength and bravery left in me,
my phone being ripped out of my hands,
my bag,
my neck being choked,
being held down by the weight of four men,
who simply wanted help yet turned their rejection to hate, hurt, inflictors of fear,
They gripped my hair,
There was no air left in me to breath,
My precious body ****** in shock,
I felt lost,
I felt blocked,
I lost my confidence,
then fought back with each and every vocal in me, I screamed and screamed and screamed even if it killed me, even if they killed me, at least I would have died with my bravery intact in me.

You ask me to remove my scars as you stare at me,
The outlines of my body exposed to your eyes...
You are not the one I wanted to see me for me,
And yet you can feel it, the anger residing within me like a volcano waiting,
To explode.
You know me and now there is nowhere to run to or go…
You carry on exploiting me with your eyes, your body language changing,
As if you were a sculpture, you hate me and I can see it,
It’s written on the tips of your tongue,
The words won’t come out,
My mind is boggled up and I can’t even explain why.
The rooms fill up with silence, casting shadows from wall to wall,
The echoes of our breathing is all that we can hear, like children we childishly turn our heads the other way,
You grab your bag for work, and I grab mine too.
I close my eyes and open the door of our house.
We smile and the world seems like we’ve finally reached the light at the end of the tunnel.
The mask has taken its place.

My pen is like a resounding cymbal;
its loud noise ringing fills the atmosphere in my head.
The words become like waterfalls,
pouring in and out of my mind when I think of the compelling beauty of life, or simply the admiration of stars gazing at each other as their silhouette of light woes mankind to sleep at night and my blood stream inevitably filled with poetry, I become a night owl.… The letters begin making up an impregnation of words…
They grow tremendously in my mind as if one were to start a huge fire, I’m at it again,
a spark erupts,
quickening impulse,
quickening in thoughts of the life before and after me,
the life of others,
the joy and pain of living,
those whose last breaths have left legacy on earth and those unknown yet close to home.
The seasons, the months, play in my head.
The pen doesn’t hesitate,
it never does.
It speaks from the roots and stems of the heart.
At the end of the day all that matters is the God-given life of writing and most importantly,
the words that matter to you and me.