I wished I wasn’t so sensitive.

I wished the raised hands of my dad 
couldn’t smack tears into my eyes

I wished to vanish behind the black 
curtains of my shut eyes

I wished I didn’t mind that my white mum 
visited my school wearing African robes

I wished I didn’t believe in ghosts
so I could keep my stain in those shadows

I wished my home wasn’t broken
my parents could be put back together

I wished my angry fists
would just write a bloody love letter

I wished I knew how to tame 
a growing fire like myself

I wished I didn’t wish
I was somebody else.


I wished for once
the girl I really liked, liked me too

I wished I had more to show for romance
than cold tissues

I wished I had patience
with those that did love me

I wished wet scabs of old grudges
weren’t among my belongings

I wished for stronger bones
in the physique of my self esteem

I wished my dad were a real Rastafarian

I wished I knew how to tame
A growing fire like myself

I wished I didn’t wish 

I was somebody else.