"I Sing, because, I'm Happy.
I Sing, because, I'm FREE!
His Eye, is on, the Sparrow,
And I Know, He Watches, Me!"
Old Hymn

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A #WRITCO Inspirational Series

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WHY
SHOULD I FEEL
DISCOURAGED?

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Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as I hammered away in my shop, the clang of metal on metal the only tune to keep me company. The local children would sometimes peek in, their wide eyes filled with wonder at the sight of a black woman working a trade reserved for men. They didn't know the price of my freedom, the fires that had forged my spirit.

Mr. Jenkins continued his visits, his appetites insatiable. I bore it, using the money to stock my shelves and keep the forge alight. The days grew longer, the heat of the south wrapping around me like a lover's embrace, and the nights brought little relief. But every coin he handed over brought me one step closer to my dreams, to the day when my words would speak louder than the clanging of metal.

One sweltering afternoon, as I pounded a horseshoe into shape, a figure emerged from the dusty street. It was a man, tall and lean, with the air of a traveler who had seen much and said little. He stepped into the shop, his eyes scanning the shelves before landing on the shelf where I kept my secret treasures—the pages of poetry and prose that I'd scribbled in the quiet hours of the night. He picked up a page, his eyes scanning the words. "You're a poet," he murmured, looking up at me with newfound interest.

I ducked my head, heat...