Untitled #4

I was missing something.

Something promised. Something true.

Something that was lost.

I was missing something.

Something sacred. Scarcely seen.

Something that tears away stone and was acres away from me.

Something free.

 

I saw it, walking along the streets of poverty that were scorching in the African heat

In my world of strife, where I survived on the layering of bodies on condemned white sheets

I saw it sweeping away the pain the shame of being incapable of closing my legs willingly

It mopped up my tears spilt by men who had the keys to my bathroom cuts, my grief

 

Polishing my pavement, wiping it clean of mistakes I engraved on my pathways of life; made them shine like liquorice sweets

It blew away the ashes of my babies, the dust from good memories that long had deceased

Eventually it paved way for the Sun and wrapped it tightly around me to kiss the bruises and scars off my ebony meat

Said an Igbo prayer with a soft layering of palms and lips on my forehead and cheeks

 

My timeless remedy…

 

I was missing something.

Something special. Something serene.

Something promised. Something free.

And by luck I found it again within me.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741