If you find me seated on the side of the road
Crying, shaking, almost distraught,
Tell me that you are proud of me
Then walk away.
But if you find me,
Tear stained face,
Hold me in your arms
Ensuring that you’ve imprisoned mine
In your embrace
Show me that you understand that I didn’t want to do it
Recognize that the stench in the air
Is that of a failed struggle
And the calm on my face
Is not just that of a satisfied hunger,
But that of me resigned to the thought of being a slave to it.
Hold me tighter
Ensuring that my arms can never leave your embrace
Show me that you’ll help me
Never do it again.
By Becky Wairimu