“Your heartbeat sounds like tragedy”, she said
Resting her head on the ruins
That lie beneath my chest.

“But don't worry”, she added
“I've always loved tragedy”

My Accent Is The Wisdom
Of My Gradmonthers,
The Resistance Of My Forefathers
And The Folly Of My Youth
Dancing Harmoniously When I Speak

It Is The Resistance That Boils In My Blood
When The Capturer Seeks To Make Me His Stock

My Accent Is The Mumbled Voices
Of My Ancestors Who Were Stolen
From Their Families -
Never To Return To The Land Of Their Birth

It Is A Reminder Of The Resistance
That Runs Deep In My DNA,
Of My Forefathers Who Are Buried At Sea

My Accent Is My Identity
My Heritage
My Culture
And A Marker -  
It Is My People

"I was here", the writing on the wall said.

Her cold body lying down on the mat,
Decorated in the lifeless blood
She was drowning in...
Her eyes almost seemed at ease.

Somewhere between the seduction of suicide
And the myriad of regret,
Before she let herself slip
Into the unknown,
She must've realised she'd never feel again

Pretty girl,
Known by all,
And loved by none.  

You chose to make death your saviour

I can still hear your laughter
When I told you life was beautiful.

You were haunted, gentle girl
But you were my secret lover.