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Those Priceless Memories

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As a girl I made my rag dolls out of cuscus bags
The dolls hair was made out of fiber:
A smell like rotten onions on a hot summer day?

I would stare and admired my creativity,
While my siblings would make fun of my workmanship
I put life into those dolls, my ken and Barbie,
My dolls didn’t cost much: they were priceless

Today my other passion is writing,
My friend told me that I write whatever is on my mind
I told him it’s my way of therapy, my coping, and my healing

Seeing a therapist in an office is not affordable for most. (Me)
With my keyboard and mouse, I can do wonders: (my break through)
To the next chapter in my life: (my step up)

Whenever I am feeling down, I don’t have to go far
I go back to that place and have tea and biscuit with
My Ken and Barbie in my heart: (my dreadlocks rags dolls)
Last night I remember this poem, I wrote about a friend

Last night the hurt was in his voice.
his Zulu ancestors chant the
Warrior song for their king

Someone took away his freedom (the judicial system)
with ongoing lies, the silencing of a lamb,
fears not the jackals or to lie down with them:

There is an old photograph of him clinging on to his past:
a warrior or a king? To get Justice, give justice:
to walk straight, straighten up:

I will forever stare and admired my creativity,
While others made fun of my work,
I forgive them because they don’t know any better..


© 2018 Annie

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