Poetry

Where I come from

Where I come from
POVERTY
Is the stretch-marked tears
Refusing to fall off nana’s cheeks
Because she is cried out

Frills of winter

He comes to me

says we must bury mother

I say to him brother

we buried her eight years ago

Justice will Find You

For every inch of a child’s bone you broke
For every young soul bashed on a rock
For every future that fell by your hand

Shards

How have we arrived to this place
a fractured people with no value for life
hating and murdering our own

Beyond the walls

My blood is cold beneath my skin

frozen with shame

they undressed me

in front of a thousand strange men

Child Soldier

Young limbs forage for their own

 Strutting guns like toys

 Small feet taming the jungle

 Soldiers going to war