LONELY

By Rose Gachugu.

Sick, she feels sick,
Not medical sick just feels the disease in her.
Her soul is like crumpled paper, nothing is right.
She loathes herself, because nothing fits and she fits no where.
She is awkward, she smiles wrong.
She speaks funny and they make fun of her.
Every night, her pillow soaks up her pain.
The pillow is her only companion, the only one who knows her story.
Her secrets are imbedded in the fine fabric of her beddings.
She talks of loving life to the ridicules, and they call her crazy.
She dreams of brightening the room one day. I pray she does.
It’s her light at the end of the tunnel. Her dream.
All the hurt and pain she bears, she uses as a stepping stone.
All they say to defame her, to reduce her to nothing she wears like an armour.
Her soul is wounded and tampered but her spirit lives on.
Her dark nights been the only things she craves,like a slave into with her captor,
She enjoys her solitude.
They call her weird,queer, because they never understand her.
She doesn’t give in to their demands.
That’s how it will stay, in pain, cast aside but with a living dream.
That’s how it will be.