“Shweshwe comes home dispirited from the day
She places her heavy school bag on the bed
She gazes at the messy laundry on the bed that still needs to be packed
She places her old cellphone with the cracked screen on the bed
She places the squeaky voice of her loud English teacher on the bed
She places on the bed, the strong strench of the construction worker’s perspiration in the squashed taxi
She places the crispy chill that hit her face in the morning on her tedious walk to the school gate
She places the bloodied and torn grey shirts of the boys in her class on the bed
She places on the bed the fading self harm scars on her arms
The insults of her teacher, she puts them on the bed as ponders on each word carelessly uttered
The thoughts of her deteriorating academics racing through her mind
There on the bed also lies the sorrowful day her father took his last breath
Soon there’s no more space on the bed; much like how much she feels has been piled up on her at her young age
This bed though, still makes space
For more to find rest
Or a place to hide
Before it is cleared up again”