All posts by george agak

I am the last words of a slain Poet. I write to trace my thoughts not to show how good I am with words, if you are looking for word genius you are in the wrong place but if you are in love with stories and poetry that revolves around our daily lives then get in and close the door behind you!

Bruises and clots

We will fight again tonight
Like we always do when liquor fills the receptacles of our souls
My spirits will be on vacation
With reason and gentleness as escorts
The love we’ve been weeding all these years will melt into blood under fumes of fury

Whose blood will it be?
I pray it be mine
The kitchen floor hasn’t regained its lustre
No more pints for you

I also pray the neighbours will mind our business
Save you from me
And me from the law
I hate fights
But I love make-up sex

I love how we grow tender with each other
Even before the bandages leave our wounds
In the midst of it all; the blood, the swearing, curses and regrets, remember I love you

In my own strange way

I love your sad moments and your happy days too
I love your torn lips, your bruised face, bloodshot eyes
I love your limping feet
For in these moments of darknes
When beauty vacates
Kindness grows
Generosity takes root
And we love more than the promise our looks sculpted

We will fight tonight baby
Let’s fight even harder tommorow for what shall remain of ourselves

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Love Thyself

Everyday is battle
Every battle is a chance to conquer
We rise to win love
That which we owe ourselves
Self love is what we need; forget acceptance
Find it in dark alleys
Find it in lonely nights
Let it grow big enough to fill your trinity
That no space is left: for suicidal thoughts to roam
For conformity to sprout
For depression to take root
For standards to rate you
Give a little there, give a little here and reserve more love for yourself
For love comes to those who love themselves.

Good Evening Friend👋

I’ve Found Home

profile pic
I’m not okay, but it’s all fine. I’m not okay but don’t tell me I’ll be fine.
I am broken, and I’m not asking you to mend me, just to help me find the part of me I lost. You’re the candle to illuminate my darkest hours.
Even a crooked stick can draw straight lines; it all depends on the hand that holds it.
Fireflies trek my mind no more, the poison within killed the antidote now my mind is a mouldy can of dead worms.
But this stench is all I know. This darkness is all I am.
You say depression is a creation of losers who’ll blame everything but themselves for their weaknesses.
You say depression a loser’s mind-set.
But you can’t judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.
Don’t tell me the cloud will be up for a while; you know nothing about missing the sun even when it shines.
Shoulders drooped in humiliation,
Tears streaked visage,
Backs bent with guilt,
Eyes frozen with fear,
You know nothing about the life I live
The battles I fight
The haunting past
A future I dread
You know nothing about the breathes that choke
So bask in the comfort of your privileges
And leave me alone
Yes, I said leave me alone
I’ve found home in this darkness

I won’t forget

They’ll mute whimpers and cover wounds again
that’s what we thrive at!
But, I will not tire from openly speaking my mind
I will not change
Tough times are here, tough times toughen me enough to stand still amidst the hailstones of insults and ridicule.
I won’t let myself forget;
That I’m still Ramogi
That I’m still Luo, still Nyang’
That Justice is a word I can still spell blindfolded
That in its absence justice is a scab that mightn’t heal
even with the healing potency of time
That history is a sadistic puppeteer
crippling today’s possibilities with past misgivings
And If I ever forget
I will find myself on my grandpa’s grave
an ornament in hand
I will chant Jaduong’s name countless times
I will praise his love, his strength of character
And he’ll perhaps teach me how to read my palms; the graveyard of our warriors, spiritualists, and seers
And I’ll count the bones broken by hands of time
lives lost for justice
And I’ll accept that Justice is a costly pursuit
We can never afford it
They’ll teach me how not to be led by stomach
My palms I’ll read again
Just to confirm my real name when they brand me anew
I won’t let myself forget that I’m still Ramogi

Cry For Justice

Fat

Hi, I’m Dorcas, I had lost my beauty to spare tyres, but only 2 months in this weight loss program, I lost 50 kilos, and I’ve got my beach body back!

Hi, I’m Titus and used to have a lot of belly fat that my doctor said was the sole cause of my erectile dysfunctions but only 2 months in this weight loss program, I lost 30 kilos and I can now hit that thing!

These are the lies they have used to mint billions and leave behind broken people in pursuit of illusionary beauty.

Beauty is a multifaceted phenomenon that can’t be defined by weight alone. In fact, the last time I checked beauty wasn’t synonymous to Slim!

You peg my worth on the sizes of my body parts and expect me to use it as collateral to buy acceptance.

The media is quick to give you statistics of people who die of obesity, but they can’t tell you how many of us die of self-hate because society didn’t accept as the way we are.

They’ll proudly present to you two people who lost weight massively but won’t tell you of the thousands of plus-sized people who’ve committed suicide because of the cyberbullies they paid.

They’ll lie to you that slim people are smarter but won’t tell you that the ‘fat’ kid that came last in class spent half the term at home for fear of being bullied!

Can’t you see, that this weight issue is a propaganda propagated by schemers who want you to make a contribution to the multi-billion weight loss industry they profit from!

And I hear curvy women complain of catcalls, we plus-sized women don’t get catcalled; we get insulted!

We have been called by degrading names; pumpum, momo, superdrum, drumset, I have lost my identity trying to find where I stopped being a human being.

The society with its unrealistic expectations of what a beautiful woman should be has changed me; I’m the master procrastinator. I have a hangman’s noose on my ceiling but every time I climbed the stool, the sun seemed beautiful, I have procrastinated suicide so many times that death itself is procrastinating taking me!

The truth is, I am not fat, I’m well built. I’m not fat, I’m just big in the right places.

I’m not fat; my personality is too big to be constricted in naked bone-frames. I’m not clumsy, I’m not lazy; I’m just too busy living my life to count calories!

The bible says that my body is the temple of God, you think I’m fat? No! I’ve just created more rooms for the angels!

I wasn’t made to impress

I won’t die of stress trying to fit in a cocktail dress, see, I’ve got enough meat for the wedding dress!

Don’t tell me I’m fat when God who owns the world hasn’t complained that I take more space than what he apportioned me.

I’m beautiful the way I am. Period. I don’t even know why I had to write this to prove that to you, when you spend your days on your knees praising how beautiful and wonderful God is! Don’t you know, He’s just like me!

Hunger bites

Hunger bites
My empty-bellied wallet stares at me
My eyes hello back with deeper hollowness

Phones are dead
My uncle says,
Not today

I pick my journal
235 dollars in receivables
But no one has a dime

A friend says
You’ll get through it
Faith without action?

Find me in the morgue!

What’s in the kitchen cabinet?
Floor, sugar, ketchup, and salt
Can’t I make tea?
No, no tea leaves!

But hunger still bites
I call someone
She says I’m a spendthrift!

So I boil water
And take a warm bath
I’m clean in my hunger