Errand Boy #Poetry

Gbi gbi.

Gbi gbi.

That was the sound of my heart beat when he looked at me.

Because for so long, I had been invisible, living in my comfort zone, comfortably fixed at the corner of the narrow street, slightly away from any one’s eye.

Yes, anyone who was too busy walking briskly thinking so hard about how to make it, students eager to finish school, studying day and night without learning life’s principles. Girls, whose walking steps fluctuate so often depending on who they were with.

I’ve been seated here ever since I was a kid, abandoned on the street because when it was time for me to speak, my speech was bleak…unclear, filled with mumblings (AHOHUIO)

Apparently, I’m of no good, useless to you.

And so ,I looked away knowing it was one of those days when hope was kindled in my heart but swiftly faded by a wind of pretense flowing freely from the lips of whoever it was that looked like they cared.

So I gave up. Just tried to live day to day, begging on the street with awkward signs I doubt anyone understands. Oh please don’t remind me of the days when I try to hide that I don’t notice the look of disgust on their faces as I pass with my totally unkempt self, signaling with my fingers, arms and feet, trying so hard to be noticed.

No, I’m bigger than an ant, but I still don’t know why “they” ,( the ones who teach love and kindness) don’t see me with windows wind up, tinted so dark like they were trying to hide from God knows what!

No, you see me Mr. Stranger, Screaming my lungs out with the words fading just as it gets to my throat. I try to speak. I really do, but the words, they don’t come out. It’s just as though it gets hooked along the line in my throat and there I go back to square one…signaling with my hands and feet.

Oh please…Please I say, stop smiling at me Mr.

Please, I’m tired of seeing my hope crashing so hard before my eye.

I’ve been told, over and over again that I don’t deserve to be loved, that I chose to be dumb, that I was not created by the same God. Please Mr. don’t come any closer. I can take your smile from a distance.

That’s more than enough for me. Just please I’m begging you with words printed in my heart fighting to be heard

Just tell them that I exist, that a smile would do, that I breathe the same air, that my heart beats too. That I have feelings and sometimes fall sick, that I can think and that I can be loved too,

Please Mr. , be my errand boy, tell them that I need to be loved.

Photo credit- source- google images

Victory Osarumwense

Popularly called Victory Osas is a Financial Analyst by day and a creative storyteller with every breath she takes. She is the kind of person who would take the window sit in a car just to look at the people walking by. She says that people are walking stories and often finds a way to wrap ordinary moments that people would overlook to her works.

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