Family bonds

I don’t know when I stopped

being my father’s daughter

perhaps I was tired of grappling at expectations

of using my blood to paint someone’s incompetent ego

I don’t know when I stopped

being my mother’s friend

perhaps I was tired of accommodating excuses

of staring at an epitome of disappointments

I remember when I stopped

being my brother’s sister

We ran and played till a fuse went off

I worry that spark may never connect

I don’t know when my prudent sister transformed

she says it was during Grandma’s death

Her light went dim as if she were dead too

she could only come out a different person

all I know

For as long as I have lived

Family has been the strangest bond

It runs deep only to evaporate like butane

you

I find it a bit comish

that I had to leave you to miss you

when we were together

I cursed you with every morsel of my being

you caused me many tears

not physically ofcourse, it was the feelings you stirred up

the feelings that made me want to lock myself in a shark cage

at the center of the earth and be there alone

lost. forgotten. dead

waiting for my fossils to be dug up by anthropologists eons later

it’s funny how much I love you now

how much I yearn for you

I never experienced this side of you

nor this side of me

it’s like scales have fallen from my eyes

and i’m beginning to peel a new layer of you

different from what I’ve been used to before

and I hope you feel the same way too

that you can feel a part of me

you can see me, as a whole

not a half-blood you loved to loath

me, for not only who I am

but for who I am becoming

oh my I hope you do

because I want us to remember each other

not for the past

but for every waking moment

I’m imperfect. say you can appreciate my mess

and I’d be lucky enough to see yours unfurl too

Love, Your former muse.

Free in the emptiness

Can we be empty for a day

can we meet back in the embers

that stirred our soul like wild forest fire

folding us into an empty space

far from the reach of salvation

Do you remember your freedom

can you forget your slavery

two words juxtapose themselves at extreme poles

Fear at the equivocal end to freedom.

freedom doesn’t begin without fear

Where did your soul wander

in the midst of so much darkness

why did the music stop

just when the encore was getting louder

when will the cycle of self-sabotage dwindle

For the free woman

for the feeling of effervescence

for the cynical soul

that don’t want anything in particular

and are not quite sure of what they’re looking at

until they see it set free in the emptiness

Soul blisters

There are sores and blisters on my skin

I know not from wence they came

after the morning light sprawled through my sill

I felt the hands of time ticking backwards

Reminisce on past duende

I was like fluid running between iron framework

some would swear I was too arrogant

I took the form of a space-occupying lesion

The blisters lasted a few years

before they coalesced together like a wave

reminding me the past never hides away

this tumor can only be carved with laser

But this isn’t about the blisters

it’s not even about arrogance

though they all influence my demeanour

it is about the keel i’ve rebuilt since then

I’ve dug out fossils of my being

and wiped off secretion from my chin

i keep pointing into the shards like there’s someone there

to help me climb out of this jar

I’m fairly stronger than a twig

My process is a layer of chaotic wind

It’s time to disintegrate my ship

and healed confidence where shame blisters once were

The process

I tried many times to explain how it works

but really there is no formular to solve this

the mess is alway supposed to be ugly

Something you should hide from everyone that knows you

if they see it, you feel guilty. if they don’t, you feel guilty

you don’t tell anybody and you nurture fear

now there is hole, borrowed so deep you can’t see the end

this all started with your perception of the mess

look at the mess you’ve made

you’ve harvested a basket of regret

i can’t speak right, and i cant laugh right

but the mess could be beautiful too

i don’t need these guilt

i don’t need to worry about others beliefs

it’s the process of unravelling your mess that straps you tighter inside

like a fly struggling in a Venus fly trap

but you could see it as a person

let it know you’re still afraid but this phase will pass

as long as we live, there will always be new messes to process

better to work with it than to push against

there’s never been a formula for it

I am a mess, but i’m beautiful still.

A Thousand Desires

A thousand days hold a thousand desires

folded deep in the solace of their palms

the longer I live, the more I yearn

to melt the ice that stores my desires

Humanity has taken away my compassion

replaced it fragile threads of apathy

I rented out my praiseful soul

to be a prisoner to karma’s undoings

My lust for power

has everything to do with life seductions

I blink so the viel that clouds my vision

may fall into the a furnace of enlightenment

Everyday I contemplate these Alexandrian dreams

unbidden treasures that pierce the clouds

Naked are the desires that caress my eyes

separating me from my soul’s deepest connections

Nya ébok rà

Control isn’t just a word to rhyme in poetry class. It’s the pattern that pragmates the cervixes of life. I knew how to breath, eat by listening to the voices that scream the loudest when my soul is reeling in unfathomable silence;

“Nya ébok rà this is what you should do”

I’m not used to the uncertainty that taints my own voice, or the scent of naivety that trails my skin. I’ve been told I’m too wayward, addicted to carelessness like it was heroine. Control is the word associated with power, they said,

Nya ébok rà, control will keep you strong, even if it’s just a bubble of illusion that distorts perception.

There are daddy issues interwoven in mummy issues interwoven in life issues. It’s not like me to leave things alone and freedom is like the stars I sleep under every fortnight so I could dream in bright white light. When the last piece of me broke away, I ran up the a mountain, pointed my forefinger to the air and screamed,

Nya ébok rà I hope I’ll swim back whole some day.

Nya ébok rà

A Sinner’s Prayer

Forgive me o’ Lord for I have sinned

You’ve heard this a million times

it could be tattooed to my lips

I head right at every possible turn

even when I know volcanic rubbles lie awaits

I’ve condemned my self all my life

better me than you I always say

better to start walking the grave than hope for life

for what has hope ever brought to the hopeless

what has life brought to a begger

I am a refugee at best with sticky hands

I know how to stop but I don’t know when

I think today is the last time but it never is

what has hope ever brought to a sinner?

I head right at every crossroad I come

Past the forest, deep into the woods

running up the hill that snakes at every turn

Forgive me o’ Lord for I have sinned

unfortunately it won’t be my last confession either

I’ve heaved and whined and rolled in mud

I say “it is well”, we both know I don’t mean it

I’m thankful for every chance of redemption you offer

and condemn myself every time I fail

better me than you I always say

what hope in life is there for a person who may know left?

Earth’s art

It is impossible to read a book

whose pages have never been opened

some of mine has got sands between the pages

and shaggy dogged ears

because I scribbled words I couldn’t speak

and watered-down thoughts I couldn’t share

The song of my dreams is but a cacophony,

a mixture of voices that drowns purpose

sometimes a ghost serenades me with karaoke

other times I’m enchanted by a siren’s hymn.

I scribbled dried blood on my sleeves

you’ll need a kaleidoscope to view my art

It is elusive even in umbra lighting

But it is enough the way it is

because I was made in Earth’s treasure chest

where no two narratives are the same

Keeper of Peace

I’m like a daisy in a pond

nourished on all sides by an ever-flowing waterfall

feet rooted between the vegetation

unmoved neither by smallest algae nor the largest predatory

Troubled water silenced by peace, piece by piece

the air is densely saturated with the truth

the pollens on my skin are like an armor of righteousness

and faith is the music I swim to

I am like a plush bear on a playground

with one button eye, the other digesting inside a kid’s belly somewhere

still the smile on my face is in-erasable

when I think of the shield of the holy spirit i yield

you see this world outside is harsher still

like med school, it’s never easy

but we’re still fighting

because of a father who polishes my replaced button

and it is so, we’re still and waiting

praying for grace and strength with each waking breath

The prints we made yesterday guides into tomorrow

enlightening our journey into sanctuary of the keeper of peace