As reward for my patient years
Of sorrow, laughter, joy and tears
Life's handed me (to my surprise)
A "me" I cannot recognise

Her hands are bigger to catch pain
That weighs her down like heavy rain
Her eyes brighter, so she can see
The world I found a mystery

Her heart's stronger than ever mine
So she will handle life just fine
But there's so much she doesn't know
And so much more she needs to grow

So, when I think of years of yet
I remind her to not forget
That though she stands a better chance
One day she'll need a stronger stance

No where in a child development book
does it tell the child how to develop

Some people slip,
When their clay gets out of shape
They accept what they're given
And set it in stone.

But you keep improving;
More water,
A faster or slower pace,
Viewing from different perspectives... etc.

You know there's a possibility
You refuse to give up
And be stuck the same way forever.

l.v.s

Maybe this is where I truly start living,
maybe it’s here I’m awaken. 
Maybe this is where my burdens are taken 
by something greater that sees that I’m tired,
and the demons inside me will leave me inspired. 

Maybe this is when I truly start growing, 
my naked soul will finally be showing. 

So firmly I stand, and deeply inhale, 
never again stepping back on the scale. 

Maybe it’s now, right here, that I see; 
it is my soul, not my body, that should drop to its knee. 
Because it’s our souls, not only bodies, that should be connected, 
without any worry of what is expected. 

So firmly I stand, sigh and breathe in, 
realising not loving myself is my only sin. 

Maybe this is where I truly start living,
maybe it’s here I’m awaken. 
Maybe it’s here my doubts will be shaken,
to the ground where I will leave them forever,
consciously choosing to always endeavour.

324 square miles

and 94 vacant

we build up our city to great lengths

but the majority of our population

poor, impoverished black families

cannot afford to eat at a tapas bar art gallery

Lingering in clusters around the idle seas
leaning inward dotted by
dried, them channels of hyacinth rivers
come like an old city emerging
out of the clouds like hundreds
of coloured cardboard boxes
packed away parted by unruly lanes
and withered lakebeds
and winding roads laden with lamps
the hunger for the sky has skived
away granite, now lakes
them empty quarries that grin
like the old grandmother
toothless, whitening hair thinned out
those forests now reservationed
rises a spire, aspiring for heaven
from this mud rolled windwashed earth