• marcellemae 4w

    Hearts are hurting
    Weeping eyes, barely open
    from the heaviness of an existence that breeds revolving remembrance
    Of having worked
    Scratching one’s nails along the floors
    Scrapping the shins just to lift
    Your head up
    To get some view of the others above
    To one day stand
    And behold. Be a man.
    Not by another’s given order,
    Nor another’s given hand.
    Oh, the pain.
    To have it stopped and torn down.
    To torture you again.
    Weighted smile turned to a frown.
    Just because you were coloured.
    Just because your skin is brown.
    To fight the struggle.
    To rise and to lift.
    To give yourself all you worked for.
    That the struggle became a gift.
    But what will become of me.
    My work. My legacy.
    When the tearing shreds of injustice.
    Pull the carcass of what’s left of me.

    Brown © marcellemae