Don’t you know
what this awful, heartrending,
heavy feeling is called?Empty,
I am empty.
A black hole
seems almost limited
to the expanse of my misery.
Ambiguity
and mystique
seems almost the same to me;
I, who am discarded
in the drift of time,
barely holding on,
I rock and pray
to a God who turns his cheek.
It’s the knowing that
there is more on the other side,
that drives me mad
with foreign voices
in my head:
[IshouldhavecravedmoreinsteadIlistentothemtheytoldmetodreamsmaller]
A blank doll,
with pretty features,
strategically placed
on her pedestal,
screaming from inside her
ceramic prision
until it is too late.
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 