When I die,
will my obituary say
that I preferred wired headphones
that I liked the slow ritual of untangling them?
Will it say,
that I chose oranges with thinner skin
because I loved the way they opened
at the press of my thumb?
Will it mention
the crescent of graphite
smudged along the side of my hand,
how I pressed too hard
in my efforts to make my thoughts permanent on paper?
Will it say
that I waited for the pauses between songs
that suspended breath between the end and the beginning?
Will it record
that I stood under the shower longer that needed,
letting the water cool against my shoulders,
because warmth is something not to be rushed?
Or will it say instead,
a list of dates and titles
a life arranged in neat past tense?
Most importantly;
Will it say I graduated
or I traced constellations across your shoulders in the dark?
Will it say I built a career,
or that I built a language
out of the way you spoke my name?
Will it say
that I counted the hours of the night
by the rise and fall of your ribs-
that time moved for me
in the quiet lift of your chest
and its soft return?
Will it say
that some nights I stayed awake
long after sleep found you,
just to feel your breath
steady the dark?
Will it say
that loving you rearranged my understanding of time
that the future stopped being a place
and started being a person?
Will it say
that I loved you in the smallest of ways;
in refilled glasses, shared stories,
in the way I turned towards you
without thinking,
as if my body had already learned where home was?
In my death,
if I am reduced to just degrees and dates,
to what can be summarized,
within a careful dash between two years
then I was never properly seen.
But if somewhere in you,
the memory remains
of how deliberately I loved you
then I have already
outlived the page.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 10:55 PM UTC
Past my skin you'll find my soul,
But you never bothered to look anyways.
Your fingers tracing along me.
across my body, the miles and miles of skin, enough space to wander, to cover, to smother, to hide me.
Run your hands up along my ribs - the cage - feeling my chest rise and fall with each breath you stole,
always breathing in the scent of you.
You lock your eyes on something
other than unlocking my cage to find my heart.
You always favoured the outside parts
rather than the depth that waited beneath it. Begging to be seen.
Without a performance.
Running out of time - we ran out of time.
Never enough time for you to stay.
Never enough time for depth that lied beyond my body.
You lead me through the forest,
always finding your way back to the path - somehow im still lost.
The clouds turned grey
and the light turned to dark as i spent more time trying to escape,
I saw through the trees in the moonlight,
but the moon looked wrong; almost false, I saw your reflection.
It flickered from time to time but too quick to catch it.
Too quick to hold it.
Too quick to ever find the warmth that held my face the same way you did.
Ever again.
Suddenly, im back in my room, you in yours. Only my walls carried the sound of my cries, you'll never hear.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 10:55 PM UTC
The wind brushes the tree branches away from its face,
Whistling softly as it works,
The lake shakes,
The leaves wake,
From their slumber,
The sky washes the ground.
They lay,
Hugging each other,
Their uniforms scream into the silence,
Their weapons lay defenceless,
Natures debris rains softly,
Onto their bodies.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 10:55 PM UTC
Sweet sensational scenes...
From lavender and soft pinks
Twinkled stars glimmers....
Like diamonds
Engrafted across the celestial
Streaks of blue glitter sails through
Dispenses itself and descents
Upon the sand Like snowflakes
Hues of soft purple and indigo
Center staged crescent moon
Brightly lit hovers
Enlightens mellow purple waves
Of the ocean 's body
Swirls and swishes calmly...
Caresses the shimmery shores
Draped in nature's dazzling gems
Arrayed with pink plush pastel florals
Cuddled by lilac pebbles
Impregnates the night
Releasing sweet scents...
into the cool winds
A Picturesque, scintillating beauty...
Awakens the night and keeps curious eyes in captivity.
Copyright Afeisha Ifill-Wright 2026
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 10:54 PM UTC
I struggled to write this–
The words won't come clear.
Each day that passes
I feel increased fear.
Children are taken,
Others shot down.
And while I am yelling
No one hears a sound.
The world just keeps spinning
As a country implodes.
The rich keep on sinning,
The poor drown in these woes.
A man who has less
Always holds out a hand,
But the man in the suit?
Strikes him down where his stands.
They told us to vote
In our local elections.
When our choices aren't liked–
It's deemed insurrection.
So to the streets we go
With signs and to chant,
But no protest is peaceful,
Don't you dare announce your stance.
How many must we sacrifice
For simply doing the right thing?
The revolution won't be televised,
But the atrocities will so it seems.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 10:54 PM UTC
The question hangs, a fragile thread
In evening's dusty, silent air.
A phrase so often lightly said,
Now weighted with a mute despair.
I trace its shape against the pane
Where rain has streaked the world to gray.
A simple, soft, familiar strain
I practice every day.
I ask the ghost within the chair
That holds the dent of where you sat.
I ask the empty atmosphere,
The silence after that.
I ask the sweater you forgot,
Still holding some departed heat.
I ask the door you closed, the lot
Of memories, incomplete.
Are you okay? The words take flight
To where the streetlight's halo dies,
To find you in some distant night
Beneath those stranger skies.
Are you okay? The tea goes cold.
The clock dissects another hour.
A story that was never told
Loses its final power.
For in your voice, a guarded tone,
A bridge half-built, a song unsung.
The distance that has gently grown
From when our world was young.
So here I ask the dark instead,
This hollow where your name once shone.
Are you okay? The words are lead.
The answer? I already know.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 10:54 PM UTC