I go back to the picture I had taken
to remind myself that you are there,

How the moon as you pointed out
confidently shines during the day
and we wondered what happens in the night somewhere else.

$60 you paid for paired
it's important we get our communication clear
I can't believe I'd ask you to discredit yourself
and although I was partly joking, I couldn't help but think
I was revealing myself.

"you are so sweet" I would say so often
I wonder of that what you think.  

Dad says the beginnings are opulent, so be stern
cause its the open house season
cards on tilt,
handshake slid,
agreed affirmations,
the addictive indulgence of young love overflowing and free
and then you are locked in.

But, my mind drifts back to the picture taken
and you are still there
smiling,
Nothing's changed.

it's time to see who my friends are again
LinkedIn the message that made me argue with them
sent out those messages to make us plan out a cheer
an update with silverware and a gap tooth
a declaration, but not of independence
- that past really did a number on me

it's time to lie on silk, and bathe with milk
to do one project and my office phone don't ring
to conquer spare time, financing personal war begging to be win
I am an American again, I can have a dream
and dig open to work on plans that went to sleep

it is time to see who my friends are again
it is time to see who will speak

& again i push onto the phantom idea of my glasses
only for my ******* to hit the bridge of my nose
telling me "no"
telling me "its time to move on and adjust"
but my unwillingness to, is as dense as the humidity
that hangs heavy in the air
causing sweat to escape out, running down my skin
after being trapped for too long, as of those who had
long fought and forgot love

so many things run down the fragile composition of our mind
like the phantom idea of my glasses that had once been
that even in freedom we keep reaching out to chains
reminiscing the bubbles that eloped us
taking for granted this new contraception of change
paying no heed to the work and hardship that bore us
into a new maternity
am i throwing away the baby and the bathwater?
or, am i reaching out to a blanket to wrap my newborn with?
pain is fickle, and so is change
freedom is around us, and so is the vulnerability that
we are where we are, and in the right place

& again i relax my tense, blinking some more
squinting out to see through my new lens

(in naija broken english aka pigin)

in these varying decision times
i just dey on a low
nor be say the matter tire me
i suggest say, i just dey distracted.
as Roe dey fight Wade
conje dey para for me.
omo, na next from one babe then unto another
na ee be the motive,
sadly this lifestyle na everything but
extravagantly ****.
as dem dey pursue Trudeau
na so i dey chase down my destiny,
na when i go take mind re-write
this exam wen dey in front of me?
for naija, election matter dey make man japa
my timeline say na Peter Obi go be their papa,
funny enough i get this feeling say
we dun dey reach the moment wen things go better,
like say this summer na "turn around season".
the true be say, either politics or breakfast
las las everybody dey fight somethin.
the true be say if you dey para, you go have to rise above it.
the true be say, na only God get remedy.

e dun pass time when we go dey look persin for face
e dun reach time when we must to carry matter for head.

Here comes the rain
crashing on window panes and lane ways
thumping on brownfields long shaded by tents of homeless
in parks and under bridge.
dragging in cool draft air into crack windows, into
frat houses bog down with heat.
pool water accumulating then draining into city basin
for the city demands of us of all she needs.
leaving ourselves in retreat to within as the rain
spreads its blanket on both the good and the bad.
the almanack foretold of the rain
as i contemplate for the right time to plant my seed.
that was then, and now the terraces are
overflowing
accusation spilling from where ever least resistance might be.
nothing impedes the rain
for she is the bringer and taker of life
the singular in the many plurals of distraction, the fortune that does not change throughout time.
here comes the rain, there goes our actions adjusting to fate again
beating down on the roof of our hearts
singing a tune on which our patterns weave back & forth to dance.
is it time to plant my seed, i ask of the almanack again?
as i cuddle in my blanket observing the formation of the clouds
while the city's crier beat its gong in request again of all that i have
then the almanack said, its time to sow tears

All in time we all will walk down the board
Yu dropped out, Stephanie the days before

Sometimes i wonder if they would throw out
a feast when i fall

Or if instead they would scramble
for a quick replacement before I hand in their fob

                 change is this place does not wait for the shoe to fall
                   because everything here is on free fall

the floor generals, and their foot solders
always in response to calls.

I am just trying to stand on my feet

we like the song, then proceed to fade into ourselves
realizing that we are all taking stabs, and
playing rotation with the pain in our flesh
realizing that we might be too harsh, over critical
of ourselves
don't say your name, say theirs
another song that comes on
as we regress into our hide.
Misrepresentation is, saying an important take
with sprinkles of "lol" on the side.
hot words to be carried in air on paper
intended to be thrown as paper plane
with no way to impose a coordinate inside
and we watch it fumble to fly
and watch it fall, crashing to the ground
another waste pollution for our future babies to cry
another reason i stumble when i want to connect with my guys
we just look down and pick up the PS4 pad
to control an already assigned code, to connect in it inside
when there's a jungle waiting to be coded on our insides.
whilst our paper plane on the ground
our thoughts and prayers goes to the sky.