Like I have just stepped out
of a cocoon hidden in an
ancient ageless cave.
Freshness of the atmosphere,
so amazingly beautiful and divine
greets me as if am jolted back
out of a long absence into the
present moment.
Everything seems anew
as I looked at the firmament
after a long slumber.
I can hear my pounding heart
as if it's just starting for the first time.
But this serenity I feel around me
eludes many.
Amidst the turmoil and noise,
the devastation and hunger,
the hopelessness I see in the
eyes of the young ones,
dashed dreams amongst the elderly,
disappointments amongst the youth,
depression within the heart of our women,
discrimination among different ethnic tribes,
separatism of the rich from the poor,
the greediness within secular bodies,
control and robbery in religious circle, lasciviousness and whoredom
amongst women already taken is heartbreaking,
increase of ****** in our society,
families torn apart,
the presence of ethnic cleansing
from these strange ones is disturbing.
My heart at the moment seems unperturbed,
but withdrawn from all these unnecessary harrowing growing pains.
I have seen deaths of the innocent ones
which society seem to reject.
I have watched bigotry unleashed
and put in place by the trusted people.
Unwittingly there's anarchy within.
I watched as a spectator looking at the tumultuous ebbs of the ocean tides,
the breakdown of law and
order amongst the people.
But my heart is at peace with myself
and the world for I know that judgement is near.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme.All Rights Reserved.

Cravings for warm electric shocks,
Sweetened kisses
And quiet nothings whispered,
String me up in ephemeral filaments.
Sharp and seductive this fantasy.
Envelop me.
Saturate me in these dreams.
I crave nothing less than to be consumed.

People only ever want to ask me about
the poetry -
those verses about
busted up noses in outer space;
about the pros working
way down passed
the corner of Broad and Main;
about fistfights and hard, hard drinking.
But I built a flowerbed this weekend...
Twenty two tastefully irregular stone blocks
in a crescent moon shape,
filled with the blackest of soils.
The sweat of toil.
The digging.
The planting.
Exotic grasses. Asian maybe?
Purple and yellow flowers.
Zinnias or some **** thing.
All covered in a thick blanket of brown mulch.
It's a fine thing to have dirt on your hands
instead of blood.
No one ever asks me about flowerbeds.

What happens when the good girl goes bad
like the spoiled milk she left out?
Because I couldn't seem to get up.
I think it was something about acknowledging that I'm alive, I'm here.
Wouldn't it all be easier if I wasn't?

When the good girl goes bad
because she worked her *** off on that paper and only got a C.

When the good girl goes bad
because the world doesn't treat her right,
but I guess it must because that's
how come I'm the good girl.
Not my depressed sister sitting in her room;
not my other sister running around, destroying everything I had to work for;
most definitely
not my other sister who always seemed to be your favorite but is now smashing plates in our backyard,
'cause I guess that's what happens if you get too close to you.

When the good girl goes bad,
you get angry because
I'm supposed to be your perfect child
not supposed to be
your ***** up child
your lonely child
your lazy child
your anxious child
not supposed to be
your good for nothing child
your dysfunctional child
your doesn't give a **** about anything anymore child.
why don't I ******* give a **** about anything anymore?

When the good girl goes bad
your life falls apart,
because clearly
you had enough to deal with already,
because clearly
this is all my fault,
because clearly
you don't have the time to face your good girl
and
because clearly
that's all on me.

When the good girl goes bad
because you left her out on the counter all those years, sitting there to rot.
And though I know that you can't waste your time putting it away, 'cause you never cared for it anyway,
maybe you shouldn't have bought the milk if you didn't want to drink it.
And I know the milk should take care of itself
but I tried and that only works for a couple of years
before the good girl gone bad falls far off the counter, spills across the floor,
and the only thing left is to throw that nasty old milk away
because your bread, eggs, oil, etc. need your attention
and it's just too late for the good girl.

When the good girl goes bad
because she never asked to be the good girl
or maybe I did, I don't really remember,
but not like this.
I just wanted to be loved
but little did I know that
the good girl just sits there
keeping herself afloat,
but the boat can't guide itself if it wasn't given eyes.
The boat can't patch itself if you keep telling it its still brand new
when its really old, broken, and covered in holes.
You shouldn't put a boat in the water if you know its going to sink,
but I guess you only really need a couple good boats
so you can just toss the good girl.

When mama's little good girl goes bad,
she feels guilty
because she was told she'd always be
the good girl.
Though, its hard being the good girl when you don't have any windshield wipers for your tears at night.
But the tears at night aren't supposed to exist
because
I'm still mama's mother ******' good girl,
just...
please pretend I haven't gone bad.

Cuts on my wrists
hands curled into fists
will i even be missed

Writing a note
i wrote
i love you and it wasn't your fault

That's a lie
i want to die and
its partly your fault

I can't tell you that so i
Sit and i cry

Why do i
Live like this

Will i even be missed

I present myself "promiscuously" when i feel like my body isn't my body

When the predatory shadows swallow up my mind and convince me that my body belongs to anyone but myself

So i post that "revealing" photo, i send that ****, I go out wearing as little as i can possibly get away with

I do this as an attempt to take back my body
to look years of trauma dead in the eyes and say "*******"

i own this body; this body is my own.