I write. I write of the pain that sometimes cripples my
mind, my body even my soul.
Pain inflicted by the things that happen to me and the
people I know.
I write of love …. the love in my heart that flows like the
waterfalls of the Zambezi. Beautiful to the eye but can be
dangerous to those that are not strong enough to handle
this force
Still, I write of the joy in my step, yes, the swinging in my
hips from side to side unapologetically owning my beauty
from the crown of my head flowing through my lips, hips,
fingertips to the sole of my feet.
Still, I write of the experiences before my eyes, child
marriages, child-headed families. Children living and
working on the streets. Our future kings succumbing to
drug abuse queens so destitute their only hope is to use
their temple as a slot machine to get money.
But still, I write… Because this is my therapy.
