You could feel the anticipation
simmering in a pot of
silence.
Each glance
convinced by their
own conviction
Each glance
transfixed on their actions,
each heavy with expectation
Expectations
that were eventually
unfulfilled.
Leaving me,
applauding,
as my young heart
was slowly shattered,
scattered
then
left in own tatters
to rebuild itself.
The fractions
of consolation
and compassion
inconsequential
as anticipation simultaneously
morphed into a combination
of aggravation
and desolation.
Because my young heart
didn’t simmer in anticipation
and expectation,
it was suffocated by it
©
hudson biko 