Poetry

I have being defeated before, run over in the long hours

Of brickmaking, tied to the new wall and battered in wet cement

I have given up before, long after my hair was thick and dark

And my impolite fingers threaded the waiting times of the night

I have being guilty before of balancing in my so small nose

The powdered frogs of submission and comfort

I have failed and i have failed again and i have failed with no remorse

Unapologetic, a small body immersing in the rotundus sea of people

Like a used teabag, the soft boundaries blending in the pile of debris

That is the making of this sedimented life.