Sitting on a green mat, with a book in my left hand

The right hand carrying a spoon while a dish is on the mat

Eating a white porridge made with love, no English breakfast

Writing poems everyday to nurse my feelings

Listening to mom’s apostolic songs

Waiting impatiently for year-end to start living my private life

Listening to birds singing as I don’t listen to music anymore

I write for a living, nor do I see the riches of writing

Nor do I expect something for sharing my thoughts

Maybe I gained some recognition

Maybe people know my name and how I feel

A day without writing is like a day in hell

I write in order to heal

I am the doctor of words, allow me to heal you

I am a Poetess amongst poets

Give me a pen and a paper I’ll write poems

Give me the poetry seeds I’ll plant them

Give me a book I’ll read

Give me the nation I’ll feed

Call me a poetess or a poet I won’t mind

As long as I write a piece of my mind

I’ve been imagining myself in a world so inked

Being surrounded by Poets, so gifted