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Oct 2019
i need some water
to quench my thirsty pain
it has refused to stop swelling
within the gaps around my ribs
forming hard bubbles
as it swallows me in
cocoons me safely into
stiff crooked mazes
dark heartless halls
all of which my mind makes for fun
barriers extended, walls constructed
to let out
only segments  
of hell

this weak and cracked silver dryland
can’t begin no shiny harvest
the crops will die
the hope will follow
the soil is weak the words are hollow
my sweet, my love, how are you doing?
i’m fine, i’m fine, i’m doing fine
i sew my tongue into the roof of my mouth
and bend my lips into the back of my tight throat
beat stubborn tears into watery eyes
and blame the wind the fan spits out

mother, father - we are in a shattered season
of separate flatlands and heavy skies
will we ever be unobscured by forced laughs and family gatherings?
by hills or mountains or sunday church?

may this air force bold breath out of me and you?  
no ordinary small talk will prevent my rage any longer not my small quiet voice from getting larger
we need to speak of the sickness in our heads
or we surely will die
on separate flatlands
on words unsaid
Isabel Aghahowa
Written by
Isabel Aghahowa  18/F/London
(18/F/London)   
245
   r and Darrell Landstrom
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