He broke dawn with every utter of the pain He sought to bring me and gave to me When He said no one wanted a broken wheel which I was And he could not help me any more or had, or did he ever Years passed more likely a decade when he said he Had sympathy for me it was like he was making a deal with the devil To stretch out a comment that concluded this was an illness Not some made up myth, and it did not define me but it was a part of me He furthered the conversation with his conforming model of a response that Should have been a sign, a warning That he now was the poster child for the stigma I would face again once I braved my face with this condition out in the open once released or maybe now I was just now noticing him So I ran back into lockable closets in tainted rooms because if my brother Would not have me, how would society but I am my brother’s keeper still Then I heard a dial tone yet I do not remember him answering I do not recall him being present in my life Like he confessed But a message was left, and it stated I have no answer this life I have left meant for living was not for getting caught in telephone Chords in mental wards calling brothers who were emotionally gone And who were far from the wheels of my bike broken or not About the author:
Uzomah Ugwu is a poet/writer, curator, editor, and multi-disciplined artist. Her poetry, writing, and art have been featured internationally in various publications, galleries, art spaces, and museums. She is a political, social, and cultural activist. Her core focus is on human rights, mental health, animal rights, and the rights of LGBTQIA persons. She is also the managing editor and founder of Arte Realizzata.
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