WHEN HE CALLS

When he calls
I keep rolling like a ball
I keep moving like a sound
I keep flowing like a river

***
When he sighs
I keep over reacting like a mouse
I keep worrying like a lost parrot
Tears keep overflowing within me like a fountain

***
When he stumbles
I keep diving like a light goalkeeper
I keep hurting like a mother hurting over her young
And I so want to be like a mattress for him to fall on

***
Why then do I matter so little?
Why then does he push me into sharp rocks?
Why then do my tears serve as his entertainment?
He is like an onion being chopped
An onion with no nutrients
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia

Tags #AFRICAN POETS, HEARTACHES, POETRY.

By amoafowaa

Just a simple Ghanaian trying to find the best in our society. I may be fun, I may be interesting, I may be funny, I may even be foolish or intelligent, but it is all based on the mood in which you find yourself. I believe our minds make us who we are. Know that, pain, no matter its 'unbearability', is transient. Unburden or delight yourself for a while in my writings please. And all corrections, advice and opinions are welcome. Know that you are the king, queen or royal on this blog. :)

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