Tell me a beautiful lie,
A false truth,
Tales of fake lives.

Tell me there is hope—
Joy and peace,
That there is love,
Kindness and goodness.

Give me this fantasy
To keep in my arms,
Of a life
I wish we truly had.

— Oyeneyin Olufemisayo A.

I know not the atrocities
Stored in your mind—
The gift life left inside.

But believe my words,
For it is truth:

It will heal.
The cuts left on you,
The bruises from man.

And in its wake—
Strength.
From its scabs—
Growth.

I know not the atrocities
Stored in your mind—
The gift life left inside.

But believe my words,
For it is truth:

It will heal.
The cuts left on you,
The bruises from man.

And in its wake—
Strength.
From its scabs—
Growth.

Memories—
That is all I have.
Of your smile,
Of your touch,
Of your tears,
Of our time.

That is all I have—
Memories.
Fleeting memories,
Changing memories,
Fading memories.

And no prayer,
No science,
No ceremony,
No time—
Can change that fact.

The dark alley,
Its ***** ground,
The sad children
With hungry sound.

This was my morning, afternoon, and night—
This was my life.
Of mud and mice.

Now, I lie on beds like clouds,
Wear clothes fit for kings,
And eat meals of gods.

Yes, I live a life of envy.
But at what cost?
My pure hands now stained with blood,
My soft heart turned to stone.

Yes, I have it all—
But at what cost?

🥀 1. My Spoiled Forgiveness

Whose fruit has begun to rot,
Due to neglect.
But who knows—
Maybe from it,
We can get delicious wine.

🍋 2. Bitter Mercy

A sour lemon,
That brings tears and pain
With each taste.
What is left—
But to sweeten it?

🍰 3. My Sweet Revenge

A cold dessert,
Made in remembrance,
Given to those
Who escaped death—
To land on my table.

Can my wounds be clothed
By the sands of time?
My dirt be cleansed
By its flowing stream?
My crimes forgotten
By its weathered hand?

Then tell me—
Which amount of days
Can mend my lies?
Which amount of weeks
Can dry their cries?
Which amount of years
Can let the pain die?

Please…
Tell me if time
Can truly do this.

In this turbulent sea of life,
With waves of despair,
All we have is our little raft of hearts,
With its oar we call us.

But even in this raft,
Even within the storm,
We push.
For although our raft is small,
Although our oar is weak—

We move through it all,
Through the storms against us.