poems, short stories, faith.

LOVE’S TWISTED TALE i Write me a love song A song filled with sorrow What tales telleth your tongue For it is warped in consuming silence; So it ends right here where it all began For your heart is too feeble for the truth It shielded itself in a cage of lies And barred itself with irons of deceit Here, drink of this bitter potion of truth And sleep yourself to death. ii Death is all I wish for you Sweet sweet unlabored death I wish you the death you brought upon my love for you Filled with misery in your afterdreams Let my love for you torment what’s left of your soul Torments of hail, of ice cubes filled with honeyedfire Let death be no solace for you May you not find rest in the afterlife May your soul be a roach killed viciously with a heeled slipper iii And after all is done, may your path lead you to love me And may we live happily ever after in your dreams May we birth cute and lovely afterlifelings And may we age peacefully and fully Through our timelessness The End. I wrote th...

So I have a confession; When I met you, Your arrival wasn’t greeted by the happy celebration that takes place in my heart. It was met with, A lot of uncertainty A lot of fear. The wrong belief that I might never be enough. And it progressed to, What does she think about me? How does her heart react to me, Does she even see me? And then it progressed to, A mix of joy in my heart and a little bit of uncertainty. But now, My heart gladly rejoices at the thought of you. I’m sorry it took so long to get here, But I’m here, For as long as you’ll have me. I promise that; Your happiness is my happiness; Your laughter is my medicine; Your pain takes a year from me; And your sadness takes two. If you’ll have me, I promise to be a friend, Amidst the mistakes, I promise to keep loving. I promise to have my arms warm and ready for when you need comfort If you’ll have me. For Ene. p.s will you have amala with me?

Life wore me down, My expectation of what it’s supposed to be tore at me My very hope was snatched from my bosoms Everything I am was taken Till I remained, A bag of bones Screaming for help with the last strength. But even that was a faint echo in my head. It took everything, Even the vultures couldn’t feed on me, For i am nothing left. It took the last morsel of strength, for me to remember, I remember who I am. I am Inifolu, Daughter of the creator, Master word crafter. I am Inifolu, The laughter that never ends, The joy that keeps spreading. I am Inifolu The one who loves wholly The one who gives freely The one who is an heir to the kingdom. I am Inifolu Servant of the light I know who I am. Life didn’t drown me, I am the daughter of IAM. And All I am, All I have, All I hope to be, All of it, Is in His hands. So I find my source of strength, deep within the bag of bones, And I continue, Knowing,...

I remember passing the freedom field And seeing old men, With their teeth missing Eyes missing Limb missing Looking like skeletons of their past self that was never allowed to bloom They sat in a perfect row Like there was a chain holding them in place And a master whipper, Waiting for someone to step out of line so he can whip them back into place But there was no chain And there was no master whipper But they were like slaves still under the master, In the state of freedom they were still being held in place by ideologies of the past never letting themselves taking a breath the whip, tho still gone, still has a hold over them. so they pass their fear to their young ones, tell them what road to take to avoid the whip, how to dress to avoid the stares what to say when to laugh and when to cry and then they became the whip holding the young ones in their chains never let them see what life was before the whip they label...

Running   The most I could do was run The least I could do was run The only thing I do well is run. Ever since she shouted at me to run With a machete hanging over her head, The only thing I've done since then was run, Even when I met the man, Who promised to help me stop running I ran Even with arms stretched out, and tears streaming down his face, I ran, Because He was too good to be true, Like a fairy-tale But fairy tales do not exist, So I’m running, With fear for the one with the machete And unbelief from the one who promised me Heaven.

Every morning I wake up, The most important decision I have to make is; To talk or not to talk? I mean, Everyone says put yourself out there, No one will know you if you don’t put yourself out. And that’s quite true. What’s also true for me is, By putting myself out there, I put myself in the danger of being misunderstood and making blunders. So every morning I wake up, I have to decide which will work better for me. Every morning, In making a decision to talk, I have to be prepared for the embarrassments that come with it. And I have to start obsessing about it . You see, I love talking with people and making friends. But, you also see, Before talking to someone, I ask myself a trillion questions, Sometimes and most times, I convince myself meeting people is not worth it, I mean, have you met me!? I’m good enough on my own, (But Then, am I?) My inner voice has become more of a monster, Too notorious to be drowned by any ...