What stories could journals tell?
What we forget
is that they are not just repositories of words
but also of thoughts,
feelings,
emotions

They are places in and of themselves
Saving these emotions,
stashing them away
so they can be discovered
at a later time.

But the true beauty of these journals
lies within discovery itself

A droplet of water will fall
further
down a curved surface
taking a pale tan color
like its surroundings
It will fall off the surface
Onto the fibers of the page below
Leaving a darkened splotch

More droplets will follow
More tears will follow
As twenty years from now
A thirty-five year old woman rediscovers
the girl she once was.

Speak to me of your daily whims
Of your recurring nightmares
Of your vague dreams
Of your subdued thoughts

Speak to me of the blinding sunlight
Of the watchful moon
Of the loquacious stars
Of the mendacious night sky

Speak to me of the blossoming flowers
Of the condescending trees
Of the dainty birds
Of the cool breeze

Speak to me of unsung novels
Of the rejected songs
Of the smashed guitars
Of the obnoxious trumpets

Speak to me of your distant memories
Of your hopeless aspirations
Of your unappreciated efforts
Of your seemingly insignificant presence

Speak to me of taboo perspectives
Of shunned personalities
Of existing gods
Of modern society

Speak to me of the inexplicable suffering
Of your death desires
Of your unheard cries
Of your weakening heart

Speak to me of unending love
Of blazing flames
Of transient emotions
Of eternal scars

Speak.
Speak to me.
Please speak to me.
Speak to me of anything.
I need to hear your voice.
The silence is unsettling.

My mama is an angel
My mama is an angel
There can’t be another angel
In this life’s hurdle
Cos she loves, loves and loves me
Out of her busy schedule
To set me free
She’ll sit on the tip of a huge needle


When I cry she cuddles
She understands when I mumble
In my mistake she fumbles
To get me out of trouble
In my sickness, she troubles
To get me out of hot bubbles
She gets all my puzzles
And solves all my riddles
That’s why
  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014

you were the most beautiful
thing in my life, and the only
thing i'll ever regret letting die

it doesn't have to be romantic
i'd get them myself if i could
just a big, bunch of flowers
it's very easily understood

because it would make me happy
it's a gift full of life
they don't have to mean much
only to be bright
beautiful, lively
and they only last a while
which makes their presence much sweeter
their time is limited,
but i enjoy them infinitely
and the life they breathe into my lungs

and it'd be nice to know that you're thinking of me, and you just wanted to buy me flowers

And i wish i could take away your sadness
with my arms around your frame
and to make your pain disappear
With my hands holding yours
And to remove the guilt eating you from the inside
With my love flowing in your veins
And to wipe those warm tears away
with my fingertips and lips
If you'd just let me in
We'll never have to feel hurt again