Doubt

Suspended above my body, I watch and await
Counting the seconds till I make my great escape
Late since birth I haven’t arrived for my own scene
Criticizing my own rights, I’ve ambushed my dreams
So quick to doubt when my gift needs no holiday
Recognized religiously, daily no matter how they pray
On their knees, on their feet, they see what I ignore
Focused on the crack when it’ll lead to an open door
Locusts plague my back and I fear they’ll be hungry for more
Envisioning a bottomless soul with out a core
Sometimes I don’t even know what I am fighting for…

Published by nyte

Born onto an African family, Nyte, a Harlem girl, has grown up all too fast and has had to be the mother, sister, and daughter of an abrupt household. Allowing both her pain and joy to leak through written word, she finds great relief in this mental and emotional form ventilation. "I'm not looking for credit or applause, I'm simply looking to get acknowledged for once. I'm tired of being held last and being brushed aside because I was too afraid to speak up. I just want to be heard, seen, listened to, understood, acknowledged because I do exist."

Leave a comment