{My Space}

It was never personal
so I don’t know why it got me down.
Sad it’s been about me;
I didn’t know what you were up to.

And if you told me,
I’d have pulled the divider from the glass box
and released the pressure,
reclaimed my mental space.

I want my space back.
I want things on this side to
expand and move
freely and I’ll perch on top, move freely too.

Happy it’s coming out,
I needed it all back.
Pressure formed cracks 
on outer corners.

I knew I could reverse it though,
If I released the other side
And, I did.
So that’s good.

Malibu & Lemonade

  1. Things fall apart
    in a bed ridden with healing
    And a handkerchief ordained by God.
    Do you know what healing is?
  2. it’s a trail
    From two to 21 –
    as you realise that time is done
    and the sun won’t shine like it used to.
  3. Reminisce on good times
    rhymes, wonders and signs
    Then focus on now,
    when things are harder than they’ve ever been.
  4. Master deterioration;
    This is the first draft.
    I used to only drink Lemonade
    but now there’s Malibu down there.
  5. here’s where things changed.
    I span through glasses,
    Stuck to my drink ‘cause it was mild
    though mild is monoxide too

it’s all about adjustment.
Malibu is sweeter now
There’s no life without it
I made room,
and it’s not so bad.

Clear Water

Because flowers can’t grow without rain,
I flew to Nigeria in July.
I won’t romanticise this for you;
The come-up is something I chased.

In dead dreams, my hope I placed,
and raced with the pace of my desired image
Traced my thoughts to Book 21
and wound beads round my waist.

(Laugh) The sound of futile action
is so much more profound,
when the round shape of the dahlia’s stem blends,
and soaks into the ground –

I had to get on board.

“My friend the clouds won’t last always”
The point was to make me grow.
So when the clouds play their part and go,
Slow, I’ll die – I know

New Beginnings

There’s more to life than love
And I am trying to find it,

to struggle in drawing my attention from paintings and gowns.

I want to reach mountain tops and cascade down hillsides
with nothing on my mind but natural pleasure.

In love, I mean – there’s more to life than that.

There are moments with friends
and mastering of theories,
Concepts yet to understand,
and new series

More to life than love.

I like to defy conventions and prove that’s okay.
We hold on to comfort ‘stop slipping away’

Yet there is significance to find in everything,
and this love journey has grown too familiar.


There’s no enthusiasm in this.
In this, your eyes are from space.
At nothing in particular, they cover ninety-one thoughts

Sometimes when you hear your favourite song,
Your heartbeat remains the same
Or, covering eyes don’t blink.

Listless, let’s remain seated and ruminate.
Some of these plans never come to life
And some of them fail halfway,
That’s never okay

Maybe you’ll scroll and maybe you’ll sleep
The pace of it all, lethargic

Listless, with dark matter around your eyes
And dead volcanoes on your face,
That’s what the feeling does to you.

We know that love won’t make things better
But you still try to fall.
Listless, you fill black holes and write down how you feel,
Fuelled by the last of your enthusiasm

Listless, you contradict and
Travel further into thought.
You should snap out of it soon,


There are two things I’ve heard:

-All good things come to an end

-Everything comes to an end

So surely, bad things come to an end as well?

I look forward to the end of confusion,

I’m waiting until the end of pain,

I’m excited for the end of nostalgia–

The part of it that hurts, I mean

Because looking back shouldn’t be that bad.


Sometimes, the sun pours through the clouds
like sand through a child’s hands in the wind.
Each grain flying west, east, south, north,
redefining what it means to be at home.

Finding a new family and a different place to belong
Eventually, landing somewhere between familiar and unknown
Where hands outstretch for help and home
As metal coins weigh down rough palms bitten by the cold.

It’s not this cold where they’re from,
but life is harder.
Hard, as a focus on your future instead of the trivial things that pass,
or nostalgia that speeds by on train tracks in your daydreams.

The sun pours through the clouds like a go-to image of Revelation
when the trumpets sound and Jesus descends a red carpet as promised, –
you’ve cried too many nights and gone through too much to not make it.

Because, you have a mum there and a friend too.
The journey is long and you glide on individual beams of fairy dust,

each hearing a different chord on a harp,
each looking forward to seeing your father,
each likening it to real life.

And the sun pours, a malleable stream of silver-gold.
Is that so real?

Seeds in my mouth

I carry hope like a seed in my mouth.

Certain of the things I hope for,

Sure of what I cannot see

Watermelons grow in my gut:

They expand and drop, some seeds fall and others remain in place.


But they fight with the Lemon seeds under my tongue

They are sour, and never sweet.

Seeds of guilt for things I should have done,

And for the things I will not do.

The seeds rotate beneath and infuse my mouth with yellow.


I want to spit out the responsibility beside my gums,

It helps me to grow so my mouth is swollen now.

I cradle it like some Orange seeds –

They’re in my mouth there, and the taste is familiar

I am tired of familiar flavours.


There are Wood-apple seeds beneath my molars.

My pain threshold is high but those seeds are so brown –

I see them as pain and that’s what they cause me.

The fruit is ugly and pain is unattractive

But I don’t know how to extract them.


When I find joy, my tongue will turn red

The millions of seeds from those strawberries will explode,

And will release colours I didn’t know they had inside.

So I have to keep my mouth shut.

Wood-apple and Lemon burn, but I can’t let joy get away.

The Sun Trilogy

I remember that I’d rather write about the sun, and how orange it is today.

Not like the fruit in the bowl on the wooden dining table, but more like the gold you imagine heaven to be. I don’t think heaven is white; I think it’s gold.

This is the kind of sun that dwells in the back of your eyes for 5 minutes until you look at it again and it happens once or twice more – once so far.

The sun isn’t hot from where I am; it’s 10 degrees here outside. But I never experience this sun with the wind that drives me to the refuge of my bed, broken and cold too.


I hardly saw the sun today, but I did see it in the reflection of the bus window.

It’s like God got a colour somewhere between Peach and Periwinkle Blue, and used a wide and thick brush to gently swipe over the burning sun. Although,  the only thing about the sun that burnt was its colour. I wasn’t that hot.

And God has carried on this brush  past the sun to its left and right; more so to the right. I’m not good at painting, see, I’m not sure how he executed it so well.

The rest is a blur of sky that you’d see on a day with an average sunset.

But that side, where I found the sun today, still illuminated my area, and my mind.


I didn’t see the sun today; not once. Although, I knew of the supermoon that was seen in Eastern Standard Time.
When the sky looks like this, I wonder where the sun is because I can’t feel it’s warmth – that’s why I’m cold, I know.

So, let me create a sun as a result. Today’s sun is dull as God continues to drag his paintbrush across it. We can’t tell if it’s the kind of sun that gives you a headache at 4:30pm.

But, it’s omnipresent and powerful. A thing in the corner of our eye, the elephant in the room (GMT).

It will fade early and intensify late, like it would at this time of the year. I’ve probably seen this sun before.