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Everywhere you go
Everybody sees a mask;
Self-proclaimed image,
What you want them all to see;
And you're just like me.
I've worn my mask for so long
That I believe it.
I've buried it all so deep —
So you can't see it —
But I can't see it, either.
What if I showed you
What's behind this mask of mine?
You'd be my mirror—
You could tell me what I am,
Since I can't see it.
Maybe I will find myself
And remove my mask.
But it is clearly too much
To ask of you, sir.
So, I'll be content with this:
With only seeing your mask.
Attineo Jan 2015
You are the gold thread;
Life is a yard of fabric
You can choose to weave.
Other threads weaving
May intertwine with your frame,
But darkness severs,
And light may accept them home.
Though the end is far,
You cannot wait to live life;
Weave your tapestry,
Run the line and chase the sun
Until it westward sets.
Light that grasps won’t let go;
dark that reaches can be thrown back.
Beeha Dec 2014
o how ironic,
to tell someone to relax,
when you yourself quacks,
constantly explode outburst,
using all foul words,
really you're so pathetic,
couldn't control your frenetic.
Moon Humor Oct 2014
Scorched pavement would hold on to day
light. The concrete,
still warm, would kiss my barefoot feet.

Until dark I
would roam on summer nights, tasting
freedom in my

midnight curfew. When autumn came,
dancing in like
blown leaves skinned off weary trees, the

sumac flushed red
as cardinals wings blanketing
the landscape and

reminding me that winter comes
with a heavy
hand. Bitter green apples fall from

the backyard tree,
does and fawns passing through to eat
the fallen fruit

are startled by me and dart back
to the swamp where
the fog rises up every night.

Poplar trees stood tall while their leaves
made the final
kamikaze plunging fall. New

Converse shoes made
their debut on the way to school,
briefly, happy.

Winter brought isolation and
dreams of still warm
city streets under wandering

feet. Holding out
through cold purple glow, I wait for
spring’s warmer air.
Seasonal Affective Disorder
You dream of living:
Broken is your favorite word;
Yet whole and too young,
You have never grown so strong,
And then fallen far
Far enough to face your fear,
To dash all your hopes,
Taste mockery of defeat
And feel death's cold sting.
You wondered why you were cold;
You were just so young
Too young to feel a thing.
ms reluctance Apr 2014
Ideas once in
permeate your very being.
They won’t let you sleep;
will rob you of any peace.
Steadily they grow
like an intangible force.
They won’t let you be
unless you take action and
turn them to reality.
NaPoWriMo Day #20
Poetry form: Choka
calion Apr 2014
if this ship will sink,
i would rather you be at
fault than it be mine.
i would rather you be on
board with me than sat
at the docks with some other
lady trying to
sell her body to you. but
with you i feel that
we are capable of great
things; babe, we'll never go down.
Raphael Uzor Mar 2014
It rains heavily...
Roofs leaking, water seeping

Bless'd against my will...
As the tropical storms rage

Causing chaotic...
Rattled windows, doors and gates

All over the house...
Creating theatrical effects

As lightning flashes...
And thunder follows behind

Children play outside...
Trivializing the weather

A good one for sleep...
Except for the leaking roofs

New holes emerging...
Brings to mind a nursery rhyme,

"Rain, rain go away,
Come again another day"


Back then reasons were...
"Little children want to play"

I can't help but sigh!
With the aftermath in view...

Soaked beds, sheets and drapes...
Smelly rugs for days to come

Wrecked roofs and ceilings...
Flooded streets mixed with sewage.

Showers of blessings indeed!


© Raphael Uzor
Inspired by the unbearable living conditions of the poor in the slums of Nigeria. My heart bleeds at the indifferent attitude of the government and the elite class.

— The End —