Dying Soul

Tell the wind not to romance my naked skin till it exposes my scars,
let it not dance with my hard black hair,
let it not make me shiver like I’m its heir.

Tell the water not to surf on my hair strands till it reveals my identity,
let it not moon walk on my smooth black skin,
let it not be a mirror that reflects my stranded lonely face.

Tell the sun not to light my dark soul,
tell the sun I prefer my darkest lane full of insecurities and doubt,
let it not smile at me with its fake rays.

Tell the moon not to soothe my believing spirit,
because I am tired of praying and waiting for late night miracles like cakes,
let it not pretend to be the night knight

I want to live with the oxygen I inhale from the pigments of the wind,
I want the water to quench my thirst so as not to die,
I want the sun to give my tired bones the strength to walk away from my cage,
let the moon give me the light to share tales to my children.
After all so much as you hate something, it might be the reason why you’re living.

Why not share?

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