I see a lot of stretch marks
indicating how much
I have struggled to fit in
their uniforms,
I have stretched for long
and I feel the pain of the limit,
Tears rolling back inside,
Blood shakily dancing inside,
Thunder inside my stomach,
Like they were born without love
They say it's poetry or them,
In the caves craving for attention,
Conscience escapes,
Poison spreads,
A gangster's fire dies,
Numbness befits,
Heart is a spreadsheet of abuse,
If they had love they wouldn't have
shared toasts with ghosts.
Joseph Owaga
© 2023
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