Tag Archives: writing

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

Advertisements

Childhood Indulgence

The place we used to hide in is no longer a secret, they have discovered it and known the secrets it kept. Our beautiful moments flew when adulterous wives brought their men in; the charcoal notes stood the test of time—to tell tales of our childhood indulgence.

Love Pencil Art Wallpaper Pencil Art Hd Wallpaper

Guilty Victims

Papa today I saw him
The man who snatched life me
He’s free papa
And his health is getting better
Papa, he fed on my blood
My virgin blood!
And drank my tears
He owns my flesh
Every inch my breasts grow
My fears swell
Will it arouse them?
Will it tell them I want it?
I saw him, and the memories surfaced
My mind popped open, and worms crawled out
There’s nothing left in this skull
But memories of torture and pain
All rotten
The smell won’t let me eat
The guilt won’t let me sleep
Don’t lie to me papa
I’m guilty
Wasn’t he right to pluck the flower of my childhood?
Wasn’t I meant to please the desire of men?
Papa, I’m guilty of fighting him
Guilty of reporting him
Guilty of damaging his reputation
I’m eating my flesh away
Or did I get sick?
Papa life has no meaning
Don’t you have death on speed dial?

Lonely

Loneliness eats my confidence
Bite after bite
I reminisce the fulfilling times
I had with me
The journey in my house
Eyes closed
Mind loose
Traversing beyond boundaries
Mysteries demystified
Under carpets swept
And cobwebs removed from
Dark corners of my mind
I remember the empty stages
Epic performance
Just me Marley and me
Now the veil is torn
Normalcy is boring stiff
And loneliness won’t let me be!

MOVE

In his song ‘ Exodus’, Bob Marley repeats the word MOVE six times; Move, Move, Move, Move, Move, Move
This I guess as matter of emphasis
That stagnation is a disease
Yes stagnation is the worst kind of disease because you never even know you’re sick
As a matter of fact destitution is the destination for those who tread the path of stagnation. To be stagnant is to court destruction. Move.
This poem is for those who spend their days turning and tossing in bed yet are quick to apportion blames for their lack of money to spend. MOVE
This poem is for women whose days are split in 3 segments; They spend the 1st segment of their days standing before the mirror; perfecting their looks and marveling at how beautiful they are because to them being beautiful is an occupation.
They spend the 2nd segment of their days on YouTube tuition perfecting their mastery of the arts of attraction, seduction and acquisition.
They spend the last segment of their day on Facebook and twitter seducing sponsors because they believe that success must be sexually transmitted. MOVE
This poem is also for parents who have placed the burden of their existence on the shoulders of their children whom they both know couldn’t have existed had their mothers remembered to take the pill. Carry your own weight and MOVE.
This poem is for those stuck in abusive relationships; women whose lives have been broken into thousand bits of sexual addiction pills that their men pop whenever their illicit desires take toll, those who nurse the delicate egos of their husbands at the expense of their self-worth but still take the punches from these beasts just because of the wedding vows. Gather every shred of your sanity and MOVE
You should know you don’t need a man to survive, ladies you don’t need a sponsor to thrive. All you need to succeed and break barriers are within you. The light within you is stronger than the darkness your situation has caged you in. Just take a step and move. Don’t wait for another Moses to help you cross the red sea, be your own Moses because manna falls from heaven no more.
Unleash the power of trinity
It’s all you need to defy gravity
And let your sweat wash away your aridity
For prosperity has the strongest affinity
With those who dare challenge their adversity
And I know you’ll tell me it’s easier said than done but son, it’s only when you have placed your feet on the pedal that you can race for the medal. And you will fall countless times but as long as the sun continues to shine, keep moving for its then that with Kings you’ll dine. MOVE

Work In Progress

I’m the one whose presence is annotated by perpetual absence of silence, call me siren
I’m you when your own heartbeat defies every step you take on the career ladder,
I’m the cancer that ate your mother’s breast when I knew she had twelve kids to be fed,
I’m the conniving spirits that duped your addicted father that rehab is for those trying to quit
I’m the hunger that drove you insane peddling your virtues for a plate of crumbs,
I’m the light skin black sheep of the family whose identity has been lost, everyday learning all that I am; all that makes my stomach churn with rage when I see in others.
I’m a hollow casket; my own corpse believes I stink
I am a lost shepherd sought after by sheep
I barely know me
I need revelation, from he who created me
The things I swore I couldn’t do have become a part of me
The things I hate doing
Things that fill me to the brim with self-loathe
Things hidden beneath my teeth and clothes

Sometimes I think my very existence is a mistake
My shoulders are burdened by heavy bundles of blame
For a past that I had no control over
Whoever sowed my seeds maliciously laced them with shame

I am sandwiched between two extremes;
Nobody understands me, neither do I
What am I worth?
I am the color of disappointment,
A definition of failure,
The barren branch of a vine that is chopped and burnt

The path to righteousness bruised my shoulders
Vanity didn’t find a place me
Love chose butterflies, fled from the dull me
Behind me trail 99 problems
No one in sight to help me solve them
And I am addicted to things am ashamed to pen…

What do I stand for?
For what purpose was I created?
Am I the only one asking these questions?

I am a faulty gun in the hands of a novice hunter cornered by a vicious prey
I am prey to alarm chimes reminding me every morning that I’m too small for my age yet too old for my dreams
I am the mess the society created but felt too good to clean,
I am the last crunch of a midnight snack that the throat moistens to swallow but the tongue still wants it back.
I am the insatiable bits of lust that blinded love. That craving for attention that sparked #mydressmychoice tension that lured your sister in her sweet sixteen to dress in micro-mini to call for catcalls without seeing sins in this, wallowing in the oblivion that ladies who command catcalls reduce themselves to specimens on which men practice their dominance.
I am a vestige of all the man I was meant to be, for when all is said and done the dilapidated apartments of my ribcage sinks at the weight of my failures, the stench of my wounded ego whisked my ambitions out of my system unto your doorstep as realities, so don’t brag to me about being on top of your world, man that’s my dream you’re living.
I am the last words of a slain poet, chocking on the metaphors as the last strike of destiny left my face spanked in wisps of crimson.
I’m the lost Angel knocking on Satan’s door, with premeditated good intentions soiled by your wicked expectations. The mustard seed of my existence strives to thrive, to give you million shades of love but you want to get me chained and spank me with lashes. Damn it! My creator fills my needs with million shades of grace so you can keep your filthy shades of Grey for yourself.
I’m the eye that finds you whenever you’re lost in thoughts, the gentleness in a beast that enticed the beauty, the flickers of nostalgia for times yet to come, the allure of a raspy voice that cajoled her to loosen up just 5 mins after meeting him.

I’m the history of mysteries that made you a best fit, a victim of your victories, the crooked stick that straightened your path to political stardom, the rag on the foot of your throne, the misfit that you dish thousands to have his head on plate, the ground is yet to drink the all blood of my lot you slaughtered to get where you’re. Success comes with a price tag but why are we the ones to pay for yours? Because we don’t have lives, because we’re shackled in poverty, because our lives don’t matter. listen, did you hear that. that’s the voice of my maker reminding you that this being you despise, this being you hate religiously, this being you’ve reduced to a metric to gauge your political bearing, this being you want dead because he couldn’t conform to your ideologies is still a work in progress.