June 2025 – Zehwahlala

The Heavy Feather

My soul aches for somewhere I’m not sure even exists.One where my soul is satisfiedAnd my breathing syncs with the

MotherI grew up.You cannot carry me anymore.My worries are more than you can consoleAnd my list of dreams are taller

The green translucent window from which I view the world is also my prison, confining me to a rather nauseating

I’m not afraid of death. I mean, no one is. In a perfect world, why would you be? The city

A life made of cardsOne, two touches and it’s overSuch is perfection.

I am a beingDevoid of light156 long monthsfollowing someoneWho has everythingI do not. I’m a constant silhouette.A teller of timeOr

I am out tonight putting together fragments of myselfIn an effort to attain you, perfection. I know that you are

Your eyes widen.“Five times a day?!”It’s not like I haven’t heard this before.Yes, I tell you.But what I don’t say