I want so bad to write again, for a crowd that won’t comprehend
The pain that grew inside. The truth I hide. The unforeseen and unforgiven lifeline.
The beauty drenched in soot from flames never mentioned. Though never a victim. Only thankful to have survived.
So many stereotypes misunderstood roles keep alive.
As much as I want to sit quiet im feeling pulled from my pride.
I need a platform that won’t censor the label of my book.
People vibing to a hot hook.
Yet have no idea the trauma it took.
Numbness my gift given from being spiritually shook.
Everyone examines a fastened face as a favorable place where darkness would once cook.
Tats engraved on my heart that purity won’t conceal.
Pierced wounds from matrimony a picket fence will never heal.
There are others left behind. Trapped in a blackhole. Afraid to speak, beaten for being bold.
But we’re so focused on erasing crime we ignore the forgotten souls.
A positive mind sounds nice but life can be so cold.
You don’t know what it’s like to live til death starts to unfold.
Some testimonies not so pretty but it’s still deliverance.
Don’t hush anyone’s salvation because it doesn’t suit your ignorance.
Optimism isn’t always a choice sometimes it’s the only escape.
So next time you call someone’s outlook naive or fake just keep in mind you don’t know what it took to keep them awake.