Volume Of My Existance Poem by Mpho Nkadimeng

So many times I recite the silence that sites my thoughts as I
Feel what I feel in this moment and the next to come
I juggle up the emptiness that feeds off my humanity
And yet
Still strive for my pride
But...
What am I to you?
When you dislocate my self esteem
Paralysing my self worth
And sundered from a portion of my values
Deselected by morals
But...
What am I except
The volume of presence that space bare to illuminate a glee
And hurls out the segregation that’s sucking your discomforting brawl towards yourself
Preceding by others
To ease the hibernating attention that your self pride ceases to offer
What was I, space forms of intersection?
Am I existence in your acknowledgement?
Am I a motion deprived of stature?
Or
a preserver of form and measure of existence
I am your definition
A general opposition of what you call better
I’m me who am nothing but a shell carved to prolong the nature of your satisfaction
I’m everything calculated by environment
but I exist and I know
But I think I know
But I think I’m nothing to you but an empty comment
Unheard
Unseen
Reasoned.