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Gbenga A Apr 2
I've always known I am a beautiful person
that all I was doing was hiding behind a facade
of ugliness.

today, on my way to the market
I met a person I knew
but looking at his squinting eyes, I realized
that he didn't know me.
a handshake later
i laughed and he laughed
he joked about the price of the fishes
and I replied, saying "I could buy a fishing net
for half the price of that catfish".
and there in the market, in a barbershop
I cut my hair
down to the scalp
just like his.

coming back I met another person
her skin as fair as the insides of a bread
she joked about my almost bald head
and choking on laughter, I said
"bushy hair equals bushy nightmares".

But the most beautiful thing I did today?
*** sizzling
eyebrows sweating
tongue salivating
I cooked my favorite dish
served myself
and one of my friends
and we ate
facing the hot, afternoon sun.

Don't be like me
don't hide behind a facade.
Gbenga A Apr 1
i don't hear the whispers anymore
neither do I see the flashing lights.
my bed has become a graveyard,
where my blood is a fountain
and my chest opened
for the flies that drink brown liquor
and spit through rotten teeth
for the worms that deceive their own sisters
ending lives just for grinding teeth.

How have I come to hate myself?
Gbenga A Mar 8
a red rose in a field
red as a freshly painted barn
I see it, alone in that cornfield
like a lighthouse, standing, by the crashing sea.
the bees buzz around its crown
and the butterflies dance by the stalk
Oh what a sublime scene!
as simple as settling dust.

It grows here on its own
stretching its own root, finding its own waters
not like the vines that twist around the trees
but instead, it is almost its own sun
and almost its own earth
and as unbound as the river
flowing, past its own banks.

what a beautiful flower
what a beautiful dusk
a red rose
and a field of corn.
Gbenga A Mar 6
It starts a slow and silent seed.
A pasture soft, the scarless skin.
Standing in the heaps, the ridges, full of Life.
Stretching it's greens, it's yellows, Oh! the supple sky.

Petal after petal, Leaf after leaf.
Song after song, Dream after dream.
The land loses it's greens, the trees lose their tweets,
and whiteness comes, frozen, her skin.

Suddenly all is replaced, all is buried,
all is white, and all is heavy,
The heart is breathless, cold and weary.
The crackling fire does little to mend this.

But slowly, definitely, it all starts to melt,
At the first rays of the new season, this White is shed
In new birth of seeds, in new birth of dreams,
After snowflakes, the heart is healed.
Gbenga A Mar 5
so we were by the gate
under a sky of stars
I stretched my hands and she held them
and they were warm
as warm as the red berries I plucked last summer
and she smiled
laughing, she jumped
from foot to foot, swinging her head
like a lovely little puppy biting a shoe.
"I love you" she said
and I looked at her
lifting the hair that fell over her eyes
I replied
"I'm very Thirsty".
Gbenga A Mar 5
nothing makes your head swell more than this statement
"my brother, keep the change"
just like that, you are married to 11 wives
6 of them kneeling with pounded yam and spice
the remaining 5 singing lullabies as 18 cry
with you sitting on a chair, made of bones of elephant thighs.

you feel like if you stood, up on the highest peak
you would see the entire world, high lands and the farthest seas
and when your mouth opens, words coming out to speak
like the grains of sand, the people would pour out to listen.

So here I am, my head, as big as a microwave
walking to my hostel.
for now I feel like a king
but by the end of the month, I'm sure
I would wish I didn't speak.
Gbenga A Mar 5
the weight of the tie
around my neck
and the quivers of my jaw
from what I've said.
a flock sits with downturned heads
and the wolves stand, with mocking hands.

as easily as the pencil glides
over the ****** page,
so also it is for the written to blossom
like forget-me-nots in the slanting rain.

Today,
the heavens wrote me
on the wrong end
where the ground is filled with spit
and the sky, grey with the angst
of mourning heads.

Tomorrow,
the writing would not be the same
and I would be
at the right end.
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