This is not a poem.
Though you may hear metaphors, similes, some rhyme and reasons,
This is not a poem,
This is a story
I was given birth into the underprivileged, underrated, underestimated and it was very hard to understand.
I could not stand being put in a stand and I have to pretend, every time I’m asked if I’m hungry I had to say ndigrand.
I said ndigrand because I was scared that if I took every plate, I would be laughed at and my story would be shared.
The family I had, the support was there, we were kids and everything was great until we had to go to bed.
Some days it was really bad, we were even left by dad, we couldn’t afford bread, had to borrow food to be fed.
For others it was good, but us we were screwed, like insects we were doomed, our only hope was to be schooled.
Yes, school was cool, the marks were good, hope was restored, that one day we’d be freed.
Protocol was followed, all the rules obeyed, was the model student, so that I won’t ever have to beg…
….in the future.
No no no, it was not all that bad, the stories we shared, the songs we sang, with the claps and the dances, that can never be replaced.
The time we spent, would be to reflect and to project, how it was in fact our duty to progress.
And my mother’s stress, was so neatly placed, under a smile so great, that I would think she was happy.
It was until I was older, that I saw it was colder, and our worlds were on her shoulder, and she really needed a breather.
We’re now older, she’s still a hustler, supporting me, my sister and my brother, she’s doing this for she’s a lover, but the happiness is a bit smaller.
The irony, money cannot buy happiness but I’m still poor and angry.
Money is the root of all evil but the poor are not heroes because they cannot give to charity.
I come from poverty and not having a cent never made me happy but the faith that someday it will get better kept me going.
This is not a poem.
You may have heard metaphors, similes, rhyme and reasons,
This is still not a poem,
This is a story,
This is my story….
Thank you for coming
I exist, you exist. Why are you making yourself or anyone feel nonexistent?