At age twelve with fresh braided bantu knots
She sighed and stared at the red door,
This was it.
Tilting her head and raising her hand out to reach for the door bell,
In there, her Goliath awaited.
This time she believed by avoiding eye contact she could do it.
Walking past the now opened door,
As what seemed like twenty pairs of eyes silently watched her from a distance.
On second thought, she was no longer sure if she could do this.
Over To You…
This is me learning to write spoken word poetry, thought I’d share this on here so that I can get constructive criticism. So what do you think?
Thank you for reading.