23 (06/08/2015)

23 (2015)

Jumpman, Jumpman, jumpman.

nah this ain’t a poem about Michael Jordan, sports, raps, the game, how much I got, or about how I wish I wrote something smoother for the ladies.

This is simply a poem titled 23, the amount of years I’ve been alive.

I was young, I broke my arm. How unfortunate, but broken bones heal, and now it seems stronger than ever.

I had a tumour in my arm, but it was benign, it wasn’t cancerous, though at the time I didn’t think it was that serious.

I looked at my mum, and she looked worried. I said calm down, I’ll be all good in a hurry.

I’m still young, I come home and the vibe is strange. I throw my bag down, open my mums door and have never seen so much pain.

I’m twelve, what’s wrong I ask, I get nothing. I run out the room in search of answers, in search of something.

I asked my brother, what’s wrong, no response. I look at my sister, hey what’s wrong ?

Bruce, he passed away, she said. No goodbye’s, nothing back, left our lives, just like that.

The sky seemed grey, even when it was blue. I mean, I was confused and didn’t really know what to do.

I said mum, hey it will be alright. I packed my bags and left for Uganda, I didn’t really understand her, but on I went.

I love writing, but I seem to always get caught in writing about romance.

Okello Adupa

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