7 years is a long time
like the oceans against the rough rocks at the shoreline
you have come and gone
over and over again
gently stroking my person till I have become perfect
a smooth pebble

7 years is a long time
within this time I have felt my heart beat faster than the 19 odd years before we met
I have cried more
I have laughed more
I have had more sleepless nights
I have sighed more
I have been more miserable and more happy than the 19 or so years before we met

7 years is a long time
starting with that innocent kiss
that afternoon just before my first math test
i was sure it wasn't innocent
then the more passionate kisses followed confirming my earlier assumption
i miss the times when all i did was sit, and all you did was kiss me so awkwardly

7 years is a long time
we've shared more kisses
innocent no more
we've shared parts of us we have have been told were private
we shared our bodies, mind and soul till we did not know when i begun and we ended
the dysfunctional couple became this-functional couple

7 years is a long time
I've seen you naked, raw and exposed
you've seen me worse
I've hurt you bad
you've hurt me worse
the only thing we've done equal is love each other
every night apart hurts and every night together hurts sweetly more

i put my head under your breast and listen to your life beat

i realize 7 years is a long time
but in your arms, eternity is shorter
Looking in the mirror I see a man look back.

I know very little about where he has been or where he will end up.
I only wish to be a part of the journey he is on.

I see the face looking back at me, staring deep into my eyes and deep into my soul.

I felt his sadness as he did mine.
A tear crept down my cheeks as it did his.

In that we are the same; filled with deep rooted sadness about our inadequacies, weighted down by our rudimentary understanding of this universe.

The man in the mirror looks away in disappointment.
I could not bare his sight too.
I know he is as disappointed in me as I in him and he in himself.

For what made me an average man, if not the man in the mirror.
she loves me
she loves me not
i love her
she loves me not
she loves me
i love her not

what is a man to do when love is periodic?
wait for the next wave and wish the feelings don't ebb away as quickly as they came?

she loves me
i cant stand it anymore
i die at thirty
i live at forty three
life is too long to waste on flowers

i love her
it hurts as hell
maybe it will stop
maybe it will kill me
maybe, just maybe, then it will be over
Kwabena Antwi Nov 2017
you and me
us together and apart

you and me
two bodies, one heart

we've done it over and over again
through its ecstasies and pain
on my back
on your back
on the sheets
in the sack

i hear your heavy breathing and wonder what it means
like most lads oblivious at first
then not

you say your neck hurts when we do it for too long
i say don't be shy
let everyone hear you

every night
some short
some long
me in accra
you in the hong kong

miles apart
inches away
i feel your heart beat everyday
in the past
in the present
everywhere and time i can think of except
when you are actually with me
Kwabena Antwi Nov 2017
if there was one god
and he refused to give me wealth and all that is beautiful
then i will be without hope

there are a thousand gods
at least one of them will let you love me
half as much as i do you

so i will keep praying
Kwabena Antwi Nov 2017
Slipping into nothingness, slowly and quietly,
I realize my worth living would only gain interest when I die
No one understands or care
Nobody wishes to understand or care
I do not understand or care to
This is the manifesto of the walking dead
I am dead inside so I live no more on the outside
It is from within that I speak
Deep within the abyss of my soul
Dead within
This is the last speech of the living dead
I fear for my soul, my life, my flesh
I fear for what is to become of my essence
I do not speak of decay or of posterity
I fear for my significance
The answer to why I'm here- now
Who will take my place?
Who would continue the crusade, the cry, the plea for sanity?
Who will fight for rationality in my stead?
I am dead within and soon would be just dead
Between now and then, I will fight
This is the cry of the dead
Kwabena Antwi Nov 2017
Mornings are the worst.
Your eyes struggle to adjust to the dimly lit room
The sun pushing against the dark fabric of your curtains to get a glimpse of your misery
The birds tease you with their singing knowing very well you can never be as happy as them
As free,
As high

You unfurl yourself from the fetal position you always find yourself in
The only position you find comfort in because it reminds you of a time that you were unborn with promises of a miscarriage
It reminds you of what Papa said when he found those bruises on your face
He said,
When those bullies hit you you better hit back
But if you can’t my son
Ball up
Get into that position and protect the important stuff
Protect your face because it will hide your shame
Protect your genitals for that will ensure that if you lose this fight, your kids will have the chance to win it someday

You promised Papa you will never have children

Mornings are the worst you see
Blankets weigh down on your chest
An anchor keeping you in place
The hang man’s knot tied around your wrist and every turn of your head you feel the noose tighten around your neck
Think nice thoughts you think
Remember that joke that always gets you smiling
Reach for your phone like it was the last straw that will keep you from sinking further into the abyss
YouTube is your friend
Maybe Comedy Central
What the fuck did Trump do this time?
You remind yourself to breath
To repeat to yourself these words of comfort
Mornings are the worst
Noon will be better.
Mornings are the worst
Noon will be better
Mornings are the worst
Noon will be better

You find comfort in these words
Knowing very well that
Mornings are the just the repeat button to replay your misery.
Over and over and over again.
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