Did l tell you Why l write No l did not You never asked I also wonder why you never bothered Probably you think I write because I am a writer Easy right No l don't write because am a writer But because I breath poetry I walk a step of poetry I got my heart broken by poetry My broken pieces were fixed by poetry I fight poetry I make love to poetry. That's why l write Not for fun but because am in too deep and l can't come out
In the cold, dark of January, I remembered you the most. As the chill snapped bones like branches, as the afternoons bathed themselves in gray, as the birds and the backs shook, so did my lips around your name. I'm so happy January is almost over now.