Alone and unloved.
In pain or in vain.
A fair cry,
A confession island
Inhabited in aggression.
A doorway is far.
When solitude lingers
No Damocles’ sword
Is needed, on hold
By a thin thread
Above the head.
The night needs company;
This confession is a weaker instinct
Yet, it is close and on watch.
Your poem is a testimony
Like colored mistreatment
Of James Baldwin’s depiction
That has led towards a way to equality.
Except for the poem,
You contribute to solitude
And it yields nothing.