The weight of the body, heart, mind and soul,
Can at times be too much for one to bear.
Dead within, some drag feet to their graves every day;
Every day, doing something, feeling useless, feeling (like) nothing.
Friends, untrustworthy, family, thinking you’re less worthy.
Faking normalcy for continuity, yet, feeling stuck, stuck, stuck.
Where do you turn to? Late in the night, with only you, only you—
You and your thoughts, your horrid mind; your heart of weight a ton,
Who do you turn to? When tears flow and blind your sight,
Your hands quivering, emotions drowning, drowning you in you—
What do you do? O’, what is there to? Pray? And wait? Or wait?
Experts have it figured out; they have ways, and ways, I say,
But I am a learner at life, still learning, still searching, still breaking.
Until I am whole, I know only ink, I know paper, and I know truth.
Perhaps, I cannot stitch life like I would, my mind, and now my heart,
But I can teach me to be patient with me, o’, dear, learn to be patient!
We can strike down giants with strokes of ink, we need only that—
Ink and paper, mind and heart; truth, in art I bleed.
Benson Langat is a poet, fiction writer, and freelancer. A dreamer, he realizes a world of possibilities through stories and explores life in poetry. Benie is a dad and lives in Nairobi, Kenya.