I am stuck in this place
Where thoughts upon thoughts race
I am stuck between a lone journey and a choice
Each having its distinct voice
Where is the roaring readiness?
Where is the hopeful happiness?
Where is the fine fitting?
Why is societal sentimentalism
The only whipping witch?
Is it wenching wickedness to live hen
With no trailing chicks?
Is it wenching witchcraft to test and walk
On paths refreshingly new?
Have I not burned through enough to pass
This test of yours and be so free?
Can’t tiredness have a seat
At its baton exchange points?
Why is my head’s insistence hugging my heart’s resistance?
Why am I suddenly the competition on drafts of hunters
With or without a parody me?
Why are questions preceding all constructions
Where words continuously bake?
I didn’t cook me through all the trauma
To end up as a nail serving just any hammer?
Never say never is a bait no wordster falls for
The now stamps a no
And the no is all I know
Will help heal this hollow that show,
This hollow that show in my hurting soul
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © May 22, 2019