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Oct 06, 2011
I sent you a letter in the mail.
Posted that is - two days ago
I know you'll send me one back soon
And your words will be like gold dust, unbearably radiant yet as fleeting as the wind
But you'll get another from me.
And we'll continue to reciprocate cliches and allow ourselves meaningless flatteries
We'll exchange I (can't possibly) love yous And I miss (being honest) with yous
Until one of us gets bored or afraid of boredom from the other or both
And because we thought we'd alchemized confusion into love
Reality will be our heartbreak.
Oct 01, 2011
The plane landed
I paused, inhaled and tried to feel like I was at home.
But I didn't.
The interesting thing about being away from a country for so long is that when you arrive, no matter how strongly you want to embrace the culture, people and everything else that comes with it, you still feel foreign. To be true to yourself, you would have to admit that the food tastes strange in your mouth, the smells catch you off guard and the surroundings have you spending short bursts of time just standing and staring to take it all in. It didn't help that the security man's face twisted into a retort as I handed him my passport. "Ah ah, what brings you to Nigeria?" "I'm here to see my dad.
Jul 18, 2011
Some hearts are hard to change
Solid as crystalline rocks, they stand;
With a stubborn unwavering that represents more the futility of being static than the ease of stability.
Some minds are closed off
So threatened by the radical notion of novelty that they grow deep anchors
And invisible chains connecting ideas and opinions to the hinges of these minds link them inextricably.
Yet change can come so inconspicuously
Like the drop of late evening dew on archaic rock,
The slow and undetected spreading of newness to ancient stones,
The slight and subtle permeation seeping into cracks awakening a thunderstorm strong enough to divert well trained trains of thought,
The liquid melting of metal philosophy
That challenges set-in-stoneness, slipping past boundary lines.
May 16, 2011
**Reader's precaution: this tale has no begining or ending**
She sat on the opposite side of the train from me. I was sort of centered but she was more to the left end of the train, so that I had to look out of the corner of my eye to see her without looking like a creep. I have the worst habit of staring at people on the subway. I could sit in a park or go to Wal-Mart if I really was a stalker but I’m not. It’s just that subway people seem to have so much character, so much personality, yet none of them – not one – seem to be observing it. You have a moving, iron tank chocked full of people sitting, standing, leaning and swaying. Some of them have on Armani suits. They are late for their third meeting of the day. All four meetings of their day are in one of those luxury suites in Manhattan. They hold a little briefcase, black or brown, always genuine Italian leather.
Apr 18, 2011
I don’t want to be quiet.
When I cry, I don’t want you to cover my mouth anymore
I want our daughter to know me, and that I understand her
I want to be the only person you have, just like you’re the only person I have
I don’t want to be ashamed of being naked because of the way you look at me
I want to work; there are things I know how to do besides… besides
I don’t want to do all the chores alone
I want to wear make-up if I want to
I don’t want to have to wear make-up for you to be seen around me
I don’t want to be used.
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