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Dream

of peculiar flowers/like sound of laughter/fluid in words you could spell/only after lettering down/libations on territories/virgin with mystic bites/of your footsteps/creating gardens/of hope beyond tales

Thursday, March 31, 2011

A lazy lover is a thing painful to be



It is hard to come back to her; I cheat on her, I use her, but I run to her in the middle of the night because I love her and I never lie to her.

No matter the distance created it feels like it is I who left her, but how could I ever be such a fast runner? She must have run too or maybe she walked but she must accept we neglected each other. She left me too! Yet somehow it’s never her fault, how could she have left me when I was already gone? It is I who feels too much and decides to keep to myself. It is I who begins to doubt that she would understand and take me as I am; all of me.

So when I shut the doors of my imagination and feelings and reach for clearer pictures and sounds in movies and music.

She watches me from a distance with tears in lines left unwritten. I don’t know how she finds me again every time and learns to trust me every time. I don’t know why she lets me hold her anytime I have nothing else to hold. I don’t know where she learned to touch me so deep. I fucking don’t know why she holds me when I rub my heart and try to hit the hurt to stay in if it won’t disappear.

If I could trust me like she does. If I could hear myself out and show me the other things that exit like she does. I won’t be sitting here feeling alone and empty. Why do I cut her out so often? Why do I forget how we met, how she saved me and collected my tears until the sheet was wet and I felt listened to and freed.

When I cheat on her, writing lousy reports and proposals, she sits assured that I will run back to her but when it takes too long to get back, how does she feel?

Dear poetry,

Would you forgive me yet another time, would you come back this night? I carry my old sores with me, they are beginning to stink, would you heal them? Would you point to the intact skin surrounding the sore you nurse with love? I brought new sheets. Please walk with me again till we get to the last line. I need you, just you.

Yours,
Yaa

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Lines crossed





Lines crossed

we have wrinkles on our foreheads
we are young
we have wrinkles on our foreheads
it shows when we smile
it pushes up
when we remember
when we forget
our childhood troubles
our wrinkles are waves of the ocean
our forehead laughs like the sea


I know I've been away for long. too long. I will write to explain soon. I hope you like the poem. I miss you. Can't wait to get back home- Beyond Tales.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Answers are questions




Today is one of the days when I wish I run on batteries, and then someone can just hit my ass open, take the batteries out, and let me lie quiet with nothing to worry about. Everything feels like bubbles, bubbles that won’t break. I am just very confused! well, here is a poem I was writing some time ago, I think both the poem and I need help, right now...:(

Answers are questions

I hang by my navel
scream
why?
find grounds
to replace
what?
will change
pictures tables
where?
I grow taller
than beds
made for me―
who?
believes in
painting breath― in out
such tokens
which?
seal our matrix
when?
it matters much
how?
faith
keeps cuts revives
smell of rain
in harmattan