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Lysa Ramojela Poem
With a dagger to my throat,
with what he uses to silence me,
my words don’t speak.
But my heart does.
It blows up and out—splat on the floor.
I can’t muster words,
for I have not been silenced, just robbed of my voice.
But I intend to get it back,
even if it causes me to burn.
I will stand my ground with amputated legs.
I will raise my voice,
even if there are no words to yell.
I will win everything back—
join amongst the devils,
just to prove to those who wronged me
that they never learned.
So easy they make it seem:
“They haven’t done anything to you!”
Exactly the issue.
They don’t do anything with me.
It may be a push to the road,
or a shove off a cliff,
but if they nudge me toward roaring lions,
to them I’ll be forever grateful.
You never get anything as you please.
That’s what makes life so disgustingly special—
an abhorrent case.
Unfair to all,
but more to some.
“But that makes you special!”
Does it really?
A child who yearns to see the light,
or a child with broken thoughts—
Tell me,
do either of us think we’re special?
All the years I’ve been burning,
and you wouldn’t dare to ask.
No amount of water can withstand,
my burning agony.
Day and night, my screams fall to deaf ears.
In a lake, I stood out as a whale—
massive, and undeniable—
yet no one ever batted an eye.
What a blessing it is to fit in.
What a curse it is
to blend in.
Copyright © lysa ramojela | Year Posted 2024
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