no one loves me
but they claim they care
if they really did wouldn't they see
i am falling apart
fragile to the touch
yet they keep on pushing me
closer to the edge
and they think i can take more
so they push farther till i'm at the brink
it's like they know i can't swim
but they are going overboard
and they'll be suprised when i sink
Are my tears made of gasoline?
Why do they stoke the flames of your fury?
Are my tears icy cold?
Why do they make the warmth of your love, cool?
Are my tears hideous?
Why must you always look away when I cry?
Are my tears ear-splittingly loud ?
Why do you look at them with pain and irritation?
A poem about the different reactions my family has to me crying.
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on your salt
did you drink
right before we kissed?
yet salty brew?
Have I been sedated?
I feel like prey
right before a wolf
as I must be
for I know
my purpose is to serve.
As fireworks litter the dancefloor of our atmosphere
One can only hope that we remember
Who really ignites our passions
Continues our flames
Sets off sparks in our hearts
And takes care of the scattered remains
You are my independence from the hold of avoiding interdependence
I'll forever light a Roman Candle to wish for romantic thoughts up a star
Explosive, you are.
Ifeanyi N. Okoro II © 2021
Not big on July 4th. Very big on explosiveness.
I fell short of matching all of the stars in space with the raindrops that made its way to Earth
Instead, I matched the stars in your eyes with the old pain's last breath and otherworldly love's first
The clouds have opened back up for business, booming thunder and zooming lightning
Somewhere there, the flash of your smile
The beat of your heart
The coolness of your waters that quench my thirst for you
It's natural to look at nature au naturale
Like Italians and Nigerians talking with hands as expressive as Deaf lovers relay romantic verses
Clear, nimble fingers that massage my soul within the cumulonimbus and nimbostratus
Fueling, flooding, fostering the gods' apparatus
The final form of unfinished paintings
Give birth to worthwhile wishful thinking
On my mind like taxes and teacher's lesson plans
A soft brush adjusting to the sky's new hues kissed like ones we've missed or knew
A masterpiece in pieces of Vishnu's vision for when he returns to look for Lakshmi
Hopefully time will not be Shiva to end this for me
How does it feel to be adored by Indra, when showers descend and drench the deepest ditches to force creation of drawbridges for those dire to cross your path again?
- Ifeanyi N. Okoro II © 2021
There is no forgetting.
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
You were not true to god.
I was playing with fire for resuscitation
to search violets in your eyes.
The sameness was very
typical. We cry at the same time.
to move away from burning calendars.
A single kiss of Agni
will make the ashes of bickering moons.
I want to die no more.