Strumming my pain with this paintbrush;

While singing my life with these chords

‘You are killing me softly’

By discriminating my sensuality towards my creativity!

The societal concept of embracing movements

And identifying the aesthetic value of the mind

Or the aesthetic concept of a painting with just

Two colours ‘Black and White’

Labelling the imitation of nature;

changing the concept of gravity.

You see!

The mind-set against me

Is killing me softly!

Why don’t you just love me!

Accept me and my uncommon norms

That expresses all elements of society.

I am not all about practicality

but theory and ingenuity.

Can you imagine how I turn your boredom

into entertainment?

Can you imagine if I was dead?

Your misery, would be such a misery

Because I contribute to eliminate

Misery by turning such misery

into artistry.

But the perception of me

is not just 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th or 5th position

but far- fetched and non- existence.

Watering the marketing fruits

Of medicine, accounting, law,

mediocrity and other fruits that are eligible

to your nature.

While I sit on the side of civil agony,

fighting for your attention; for you to water me.

I’ve been discriminated

And violated by the words

Of the hegemonic community

Who strums my pain

With their mouths;

While I sing my life

With these chords

‘You are killing me softly’

I am more than just your

Rolly Polly-Jambalassi- masquerader or One drop movement

I am not just your pick me up

When you want me to tell your

La Diabless story or sing to you future fantasy!

I am more than just your ordinary

Kotch pon di programme, bubble gyal ah bubble,

Misty Blue, All of me, Turn down for what lullaby!

I am more than just a Point or Flex!

You see the point is - society need to

Adopt me, nurture me, dispatch all

Hegemonic forces against me

And Flex on my actions

Because right now “THIS ARTISTIC STRUGGLE IS TOO REAL"

I am a little boy again
Is the supermarket empty?
I am the ugly duckling
Is there life outside the pond?
I am a cub in a giant cage
Is there a zookeeper?
I heard there was an oasis beyond the desert

My warmth adds up, the numbers don’t
My spirit searches, my mind wanders
There are a billion faces behind my own
Is one of them me?
I clutch my teddy, violated
Looking for a lake to wash in

I slap on a face before I go out
Zane, Zack, Z’karyah, kotch, Psalmspitter,
Tenderfoot, Buddha, Dylan, Matthew, MiaR
I look for shalom, but find chaos
A thousand roads forward and back
Do any of them lead me home?

Where? What is that?

Sides draw battle lines, I am cut in two, or three, or four
As the little boy inside me tries
To figure out what to search for.