In Da Ghetto.

When hunger strikes it bears witness. My heart was full of this hunger, and bitterness was the burden to bear.

Can I be blessed like the others? I usually sit still in my chair and think that in someplace else where, there is a human who like me doesn’t flinch in provision of the basic necessities of life. Will I in my wheelchair of despair and shocks of pains of all kinds wither away like the forgotten history books? My heart is palpable from the pain within. I can’t sustain any relationship because I have nothing to offer. It is the same as my relationship with the Good Lord. I call it the perversion of years how I evade the Lord perplexes me. I can’t be able to balance the pain with the hope that there will be a greater future.

The game is already rigged and here is a 20-year-old boy wrestling with generational curses. Is it normal? Should I ask why my motherland is so cursed? But this will only raise the forgotten memories of how I grew up fatherless, wrestling my way up with the little grace the Lord gave me. Thanks, Big Man.

My tongue full of odour. I brushed this morning but odour from the accumulated pains over the years, where I couldn’t cry I swallowed the tears, where I couldn’t scream, I hushed the demons. Angels no longer visit me. I am the concierge of evil. My hustle is drained in self-empathy, I can't concentrate on it. I am feeling at a disadvantage, always sad and envious of the life that is being lived. Someone has to decide on what colour of cloth to wear, while I struggle to mend my grey not so black shoe of its cracks at the bottom.

All am left with is wishing that tomorrow never comes, all the pain, the sorrow and I remember I am a Spartan soldier. I was made from the streets, from nothing and now all am left with is the hope that it will all be well. Maybe the sorrow is delusional-whatever comes Mama I will conquer! All sorrows drown the resentment towards life. I can survive if it doesn’t end well. Wish me luck.

And not being livid but do they who live a life know how it feels to live and not have a life? Always afraid of anything other than yourself. Having to hide from your own breath can betray you in the leastways. Scavengers in every nook and street of town. They are hunting you down. All streets are in disgust of you.

Dirty to the soul, having to live with the sins. Sins which we are told have to be confessed but the church is disgusted by the sight of you. Liquor counts not wanting to be associated with such a menace. Deprived of existence while still breathing? Trying every possibility but your ceiling seems to be at its lowest, not thinking of how you can be appreciative of your stance in this life.

What do you do in such a state, do you still have any purpose? Do you have any hope that it may get any better? No, the epitome of darkness when the soul is completely lost in denial. Denial that this is actually happening to you, where you never have to dream it as others do. It's your state as the sun rises and goes down. Catching the cold from the thoughts of poverty crosses over your head. Your body is non-responsive to the foods but deprived of mental clarity.

Suicide really is not a bad thing. Condemning it and not having to actually experience it. Mental torture on whether to proceed onwards and do the devilish thing. Because why not he resides in all of us. But you remember you are from the ghetto and never again will this put you down. From the ghetto to the moon. From an empty womb to a full house. It shall be well, Ghetto.