I crave the nakedness children wear in town squares. Little flowers blossoming in a sea of evil men. Born open for us to spectate souls. We forgot the colors of our humanity. In the tiny folds of their petals A rawness that bites at fingers digging at open wounds. Screams as though to tear their own throats Laughs as though joy wasn't a flash in their mother's pot of sadness and despair. And not worry about crooked teeth and bulging stomachs. I want the resilience of the little soldier people who march through the years like hope was the same as their grandma's groundnut soup. That it replenishes every Sunday and carries them on its wings through the weeks. Give me the magic which makes them stand atop dragons the old can't see. I want to walk through dark hospital wards, Shoes in all the wrong places Shorts a bit too tight. Pee on myself Then run to my mother smiling. I want to forget that hospitals are a place where grown men cry.