I am not a poet

I stitch that in capital letters to the back of my brain as I write my poems,

I am not the victim

Though you may have succeeded in defiling them and abusing their body to your satisfaction, I will not be victimized

I am not dumb,

Though my mind may not always pay attention when you’re speaking I clearly understand what you’re talking about

I am not lost

I tell that to my body as I soul search around for a place where I am not classified nor judged upon my physical appearance and status of life.

Where every idea I perspire is considered as a breath of fresh air, a place where I am truly accepted.

Where I am constantly reminded of the positivity I keep inside no matter how small it may be, for it is who I am!

A place that brings back the missing parts of me that run away while I faced rejection at the hands of a monster called choice.

A monster that constantly feed on me as it shattered every single fragment of resistance in me.

I’m still the same, I’m sorry for not being perfect

But in his eyes am worth it.

I am not in pain

I’m simple letting go of fragments that cause an inconvenience and prevent me from functioning at full potential.

I am not a mistake don’t call me that

I may be a product of a one nightstand that you never thought twice about.

But please don’t call me that am just as human as are.

Maybe more human than you’ll ever be.

I guess my negativity is all you see,

Don’t say a mistake is all I’ll ever be.

Am still the same. Trophy you paraded around claiming you’re proud of.

What’s become of my life now?

Where has pride gone to?

Answer me!!! Am still here.

I am not a problem.

Though I may be critically deserted and with only hope and faith to drive my days but I am not a problem.

I am not weak

I simply know when to fight and when to walk away.be it In the light of day or darkest night

I will not fear to stand for what I know and believe in, to all those who rejoice in my sorrows

I am the brave

I am the bold

I am the strong 

I am the sonnets in the wind

The ink in a poem written by those who are broken.

I am the tears of a black African child.

Emmanuel Rayan Daka (Le Red InkHeart)



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