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Crowned in gravel
I'm totally exhausted,
wondering if life is a car exhaust.
Maybe I'm just smoke in motion,
burning dreams for fuel I can't afford.
Or I might be just a windscreen,
only of use when it rains.
People look through me,
but never pause to see the stains.
Often ignored,
like tires only checked on
once I'm worn out—
still I keep rolling.
Even gravel can’t convince me to break.
How many needles and glass
have I endured
to keep the train moving?
Still they wonder why I creak,
why my silence sounds like breaking.
I have chose you
in every turn and curve,
thinking you were my destination
but some maps lie in silence,
and not all roads were meant to arrive.
So reclaim what I have lost:
I'm taking the sharp glass and gravels,
embedding them on my crown.
Let them see every crack I survived
my glory isn’t gold, it’s grit.
Today I’m shamelessly proud
of every journey, ’cause
it showed me new roads.
And every scar sings of motion—
proof I never stayed broken.
Copyright ©
Hellen Nuhu
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