Gone prodigal again

_I did it again!_
Left my place of rest in search of fading bliss
I called ‘inheritance’ what was mere gifts
Dropped my daily routine to unwind with wild parties
Past achievements that have become ashes
I knew I was out of power but the fan’s still turning in my direction and it felt cool
I knew my embers were getting cold but I couldn’t resist the urge to dance without recharging and see what it felt like
I knew my  light was getting dimmer but I claimed I was shining in the darkness
Away from my Source
Away from who made me son
Away from my true inheritance
Away from my natural habitat

_I did it again!_
How can I face Father this time with shoes on?
How can I expect his forgiveness after the limit for a day?
How can I tell him his robe got torn?
How can I tell him the reason I am back was the memory of the tasty beef in my mouth?
That I want to be welcomed again?
That He was right and I lived wrong again?
How can I tell him I did it again?

Hannah DGinus
©2024

Rape

I didn’t think he would
No!
He was my brother
I didn’t think he would leave me with this wound
He was my blood

I should have known
From the way he looked at me
From the way he often stared at me
I should have gotten the message
The moment he closed the door to the passage

Don’t ask me what I was doing in his room
Dad sent me there
He sent me to serve him
Dad didn’t know his son was a forceful defiling monster

His sick son,
A strong brutal rapist

Would I recover?
The evil touch,
The pains,all to his gain
Was there any gain???

My Body…
Broken beyond repairs
My mind…
Did he rape my mind too?
Why can’t I forget?

The shots of whiskey hasn’t been helping
The cigarettes only makes me remember
Remember how I struggled
How I begged
I can’t forget how he pushed me out of his room
To an untimely doom

Teach your sons to flee!
Tell them the urge won’t kill
Teach them to respect a woman
Tell them No means No
Make them aware of consent

Teach your daughters to speak out
Let them confide in you
Don’t let them walk through life like this worthless broken girl before you.

– Jemima Joseph
(c) 2021


WILL YOU BE?


The trickle of salted water
Opened up the flood gates of its tap
The fiery gaze of hurt and pain
Like boiling blood
Will you be the hands to wipe off?

The bleeding of the shape I call love
The grief of the cut in two
The loss of the pieces fixed to it
Will you be the one to mend?

Like stones hurled at one
The weight you can’t bear
The pricks it leave behind
Of fear, of poor esteem
Will you soothe my ears?

Steps higher steps above
In doubt and fear
With skills but no grit
Will you be the one to urge on?

My love my perfect
Imperfectly perfect
Frail, grace and calm
Will you hold my hand?

When my eyes are covered with fear
And my hands quiver in despair
When my Feet drown in doubt
Will you be my Anchor

When the day wears a black gown
And the Sun refuses the smile
Hiding the face of the moon
Will you be the voice hope?

Oraegbu Philipa Ada
Olaoye Adeleye
© 2020

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL – Part 1

The most beautiful girl my experience taught smiled at me today
It has been a long class and I thought I was following till that smile
I have myriads of questions but I fear my mates might have a comic relief
So I try moving my shivering lips apart in an attempt to smile back
My grades are average so why the warmth in her smile?
My grades are average so I must be missing something a brighter student can point out
Soon after class, a tap on my shoulder, and I turn to see a pair of joy-flooded eyes
I can’t hold her gaze, my legs are trembling and I have a sudden urge to pee
I sit down, clamp my legs together with my hands between them
She seem to notice my discomfort so she pulls out my hand and holds
“What have I got myself into”, I think
Without mincing words she tells me she likes me and would want a friend in me
On the 3rd attempt at trying to talk and not recognizing my voice
I clear my throat and all I can mutter is ‘okay’
I could change classes and routes and never see her again but she has other ideas
She walks me home, my palm in hers
With each laughter and chatter, I feel at home
She tells tales too beautiful to be true about herself;
Describes her thoughts of me in ways my exposure has not afforded my imagination
I unpack boxes I leave packed because I was always on the move
Now I am home

ChyD
© 2019