You Make Me Sick

The fever is the battle,

Victory comes in surviving it,

We’ll work to avoid it again,

Take care, respect the fight…stay clear.

Used black baby dolls,

Angry brown soldiers,

Together they create heat,

Unwanted, feared…it’s fever.

It starts with subtle warm,

Then grows and roams throughout,

Taking over your ability to move,

There is sweat and no return.

Wise woman says, “lay down dear”,

And when you rise, you are swimming,

Covered in the evidence of it all,

Fever did not win.

The most subtle form of faith,

To lie down not knowing if you will rise,

Some fear the concept,

Others operate in love and great things.

Whether the battle is within, or not

We recognize it, we go through,

It’s the sickening outcome,

…of putting up with their shit. 

By Badilisho

http://ibwriting.blogspot.com