Trigger warningVery disturbing Dear sir, I write to you at a time when Bloodshed has become a trending hashtag. When genocide is another word for good morning. When a mosquito bite has resulted in a bird flu and the bird owner has been quarantined. "The bird should be discarded" you decree. On its wings it conveyed passion, ideas and businesses. A confidant, a pillar it has become. A pillar of support no government parastatal offered. I write that you reconsider for from my little knowledge, no one can cage a bird. It is meant for the skies so let it fly. Yours faithfully, a very lazy youth.
Nigerian government has banned Twitter. I say this with my two hands covering my face in shame. While deaths are occurring thanks to terrorism, all he can think of is banning Twitter because his tweets were deleted.
I never thank you for being the sole orange-blossom in my garden. Laughter fills your pockets and spills into the air like bubbles, adhering to all who pass. Only you know how to turn anger into flowing yellow carnations and chocolate swirls. Vibrant amber sun-eyes glint on your face; you elevate me with your common sense and faith. Every night, when I was little, you crocheted a quilt of stories in my head so I could sleep. Your touch turns my tears into dragon-flies fluttering Off my cheeks, reminding me that I am never alone. Upon my shoulders, I wear your strength as a jacket against the cold.
An acrostic poem about my mom and all she does for me
Ivory leaves sprouting from your knuckles light streaming through your lashes as snowflakes braiding your stone fingers moving reaching for the sun bark ascends from the earth raising you becoming you encasing you in a sheath of Laurel roots journey from your feet exquisite as butterfly wings hair turns to foliage Evergreen
Submerged In a world of music And images In her mind She sleepwalked Through life Watering the roses With her blood Looking through The mirrors The cellar dwellers Waited for her To be one of their own…