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 Dec 2018 Damilola Victor
Kayla
Set the alarm
Lock the doors
Lock the windows
Lock the shutters
Find the cricket bat – “put it by your bed”
Say goodnight to mom and dad

Although young, not naïve
I knew every night had the possibility of being my last

A routine that is now muscle memory.

Fear –
You may think
But life –
Normal for me.

Wake up
Turn off the alarm
Unlock the doors
Open the windows
Open the shutters
Put the cricket bat in the cupboard

Never being able to be left alone at home. Unwillingly dragged from store to store.

But – that’s the thing –
People don’t know the real Her,
They know the exquisite scenery, the unforgettable wildlife
They don’t know… But I do.
Because She is my home
Because being in constant fear for my life –
is normal.

Confused –
What do I tell people about Mother when they ask?
The person who raised me, taught me how to be grateful, how to ride a bike,         how to love.
Do I tell them? Will I scare them?

Although hidden beneath the tyranny – I would say –
the bloodshed
the faces of malnourished children left for dead on the side of the road the poverty struck soil the corruption      the greed the hunger the death the separation of class and race

Although a place feared –
Africa.

My Africa –
Whose sunshine you feel ignited in your soul
My Africa –
Whose smile is irresistibly contagious
My Africa –
Whose heart lies in the grassy terrain
The golden dunes of sand
The never-ending mountain tops
My Africa –
Who is the heart of various people
           cultures
   languages
          All who call Her home.
She is –
Where my heart lies even if I am thousands of miles away
Where my mind wanders from day to day.

Her air, instantly calls you
Her smell, instantly smelt
Welcoming you ever so dearly –
      Home.

Like all good mothers,
She is the one who can handle both the tranquil and turmoil,
the love and war.

She is my home. She is who I fear of disappointing.

My Africa –
is beautiful.
Home sick...
In the twilight night
That casts shadows to the day
The cold creeps at the October edges of my single pane windows,
And seeps into my cheaply heated home with newspaper insulation
It catches my toes, and walks up my white hands and grabs my face and nose
The cold grasps firm and goes deep

And in the chilly dieing light  
I found a picture of you laughing, tucked into a book I was going to give you
Suddenly I am dragged back to the moment when I fell in love with your soft native eyes.
And your freckled cheeks drawn in an eternal smile
I loved your black hair and your carefree way

The cold is not cold enough for this,
I open a window and the back door.
I finish my drink to the whiskey sharp bottom,
I cast off my blanket and sit as wind comes in.
The cold is not yet cold enough

I add ice and ***** to my glass
Hoping for Russian absolution
But in the freezing flesh core of my sad meat suit,
As the temperature drops to negative numbers  
My stupid heart still beats for you
And the cold is not cold enough for this.
 Dec 2018 Damilola Victor
Meruem
Purple skies, sunset beyond the bulb.
At the tea shop, breeze by the bay.
So what are you waiting for, love?
Can't you see that I am here to stay?
December 7, 2018 - 02:08, Ref. WGL39Q

My book, one Wintermelon Milk Tea, and my "To Infinity" playlist. You know the vibe.
You call me lovely now
wait
and see
what I will be
when clothed in all your love
my most beautiful me
is coming
I’m not quite sure why I’m doing this to myself.
I know it’s wrong.
I know I will ruin my relationships.
I know I could die.
But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to care.
To care enough to change.
To care enough to turn this evil cycle around.

I guess it has gotten to the point where I’m beyond saving.
I don’t know what to do anymore.
People always tell me to follow my heart, but my heart was broken into a million pieces.
And I don’t know which one to follow.
"Would you like to be mine ?" He questioned with sincerity.

"I would, but before being yours I'd like to be mine." She answered.
 Dec 2018 Damilola Victor
Nêijî
I always tell myself to let go the past
I know sometimes, it hurts.
But then I ask myself,
What's the point of having the past on your back?
Nothing, really.
First thing's first
I awaken at six
Only to sleep until seven thirty
There
I ate breakfast and
brushed my teeth
After
I went to
swim practice
The fun kind
With relays
That my team won
Lapping the other
Then we got
Pancakes
Next
I put REAL
Clothes on
And took an hour
To install
A half metal mouth
With green bands
As a surprise
It's a surprise for my friend's party

— The End —