Oh, to give a dam—much like a lake, its waters
held back, silence breaking my spine. All of my
worries are so high; walled off like Kariba—
****; the young grow old faster than you
can say the word— telling jokes, but even
a straight path smiles with crooked teeth.

Hope laughs at itself, when it forgets to believe.
And what’s one more injury in a whole lifetime,
lest you hang yourself with the very lifeline
you cling to.

0808 4116 is the helpline; but on an island
of despairs, what becomes of a landline—
when your thoughts are rigged like landmines,
waiting for the wrong step to set them off.

Watch your step. Hope lives in an arena, fighting
to be heard through the noise. And anything worth
holding onto is something worth bleeding for—
But it will demand you take your licks, like a kitten
burning through lives, losing a few before it learns
what survival really is.

So don’t litter your worth on the ground.
Guard it. Nurture it. As a mother cat does
her litter— fragile, trembling, but alive.