The world echoes self belief.
Life’s choir choruses in unison to
But these feelings evade me.
Opportunity dodges me like a bullet.
I am only a nomad in this journey.
Retiring every night to the universe’s
leaking roof and squeaking bed.
It’s hard to believe in yourself when
your back is pinned to concrete while
the cold tickles your feet.
When your head is as heavy as sand
and your faith is as fragile as a house
When your dreams turn to specters in
the dark and your fears chase you
around the room.
When your bed becomes a crypt and
reality provokes your conscience.
When your thoughts scatter in the
fields in disarray and you feel like
you’re losing your mind.
When the gossiping walls mock you
and the clouds rain insults on you.
When the wind puts you down and
the sun’s rays dim your vision.
When you feel like a bench wench
massaging the pride of conglomerate
society daily on a 9 to 5.
When hope flees and your strength
retires to an island of abandoned
When the bite of reality stings like a
bee and all you get is your mind’s
rhetoric questions and fate’s
What’s a black woman to do?
It’s hard to defend the integrity of
this system with a rioting belly,
rheumy eyes and tired feet.
Walking the judgmental tight rope
with chains around my neck.
A slave to society! Believing in the
whims of this twisted map.
Not good enough to paint the sky.
Not fit to ride in the matatu of success.
Not talented enough to compete in life’s
A poetic minuscule stowed in the boot
of plight with forgotten dreams.
See, it’s hard to plan your future
with shaky hands.
Balancing on the bridge of doubt
Married to society-mentally divorced.
The world whispers a sweet melody
of self belief in my quiet.
Perhaps…I’ll listen this time.
The music slowly blankets my
unruly thoughts and strokes my
Sense ditches nonsense.
Possibility suddenly looks attractive.
Liberated! It feels great believing in