Self Made? Never.

Being “self-made” is a dream in the eyes of an outcast.
No support around,
Just you,
A vision and a pen along with a pad helping you endure life when it hits the fan,
While conjuring the future you’re so desperate to see.
No friends.
An Earth full of trees,
Flowers and plants releasing a delightful scent as I hold one in my hands,
No family.
Only God as my Father as mine abandoned me…

Does my isolation from human love exempt me from showing some to another?
When stepping on a stage,
Wasn’t I cheered on by many others?
When I sell a book of my Poetry,
Can I really say I’ve eaten dinner by myself with a face smothered?
In a plate full of food bought by someone else’s dollar happily given to me for my poetic efforts,
To make people smile…

Few questions I ask myself,
Here and there,
As I paint poems of Love & Victory.
Although I battle with Anger,
I carry a heart capacious for inner Light flickering before my eyes,
Reignited by my refusal of misery.
A misery that was only found in my past resentments against former peers who’ve defused our synergy…

For so long,
I saw a traitors’ face on the shoulders of those I’ve performed for.
Thought it was just me!
As I succeeded no matter how war-torn.
Whenever I go buy food to eat,
I remember how I couldn’t eat for weeks,
While others saw me struggle and bleed!
Giving me a few bucks with a hug as I felt forlorn…
As I thank every one who didn’t sever me from their heart,
During every night my tears tried to sweep me off of my own shores…

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