The bridge above her nose was pierced,
Her nostrils were, as well,
With several silver bars laced through,
As far as I could tell.
Her upper ears both sported studs
And wrapped around her neck
A studded leather choker served,
With others, to bedeck.
I couldn’t count how many more
(I didn’t want to stare)
And on her wrists, assorted bracelets
Brightly dangled there.
She was a very friendly soul
And so I had to ask
If she slept with all her piercings;
She did not take me to task.
She simply laughed and said she did,
Not what I thought I’d hear,
Since I take my earrings out each night,
Just one in either ear.
She started crying in the middle of rages—
not the soft kind, but sharp,
like she’d cut herself on something
I couldn’t see.
She slammed drawers.
Shouted at a spoon.
Broke a plate and sobbed
as if the world had cracked with it.
Before she left,
my mother filled the kitchen with notes
written on paper towels—
taped to the cupboards,
the countertops, the fridge.
I couldn’t read,
but I knew they were important—
squares of paper whispering rules
for someone to follow.
And then she was gone.
We went to see her
in a hospital that smelled
like bleach and stillness.
She didn’t get up—
just sat in a wheelchair
with a white bandage
wrapped around her throat
like she’d tried to swallow something
that wouldn’t go down.
After that,
she came home quiet.
No more yelling.
No more crying jags.
She took down the notes,
made my lunch
and folded the laundry
like nothing had happened—
like maybe I dreamed it.
I didn’t ask why, and she didn’t say.
But I tried not to spill things.
I tried not to be loud.
What are you afraid of
Look in their eyes
For now it's time
You've been soft for too long
Head on her knees
Arms wrapped around her legs
And just like a prisoner
For freedom she begs
For a moment they pray
The other she turns to prey
If she doesn't marry, she's faulty
For crimes she never did she's guilty
Each day every day she crumbles
Every step she takes she fumbles
Her lips are like sharp sword
But she's forced to never say a word
Taught to be humble, always calm
It's the way you live without any harm
But when they've lost all the humanity
Why are you afraid to do the same
When they've abused all their right
Why are you afraid to still fight
What do you have left to lose
Why do you fear
You can steal words, not ideas
You can steal moments, not feelings
If they do then let them
For they can steal bodies, not souls
they always ask me to stay a little longer,
as if laughter came from my skin.
as if I could be unlonely
just by making sure no one else is.
I fill the room,
and yet I’m never
in it.
they love me most
in photographs cropped at the waist—
in group chats
where I type like a mirror
and vanish like fog.
I am the pause before the pretty one speaks.
I am the arm wrapped around her waist.
I am the voice that steadies the silence
but never stirs the heart.
boys tell me I’m safe,
like a bed they’ll never sleep in.
they laugh
and I laugh
and my laugh
is a little too practiced.
I know how to fold desire
into a joke
before anyone sees it.
I know how to be background,
the warm blur,
the easy comfort
you never imagine kissing.
and still—
when I cry
it’s always quietly.
as if I don’t want
to make anyone
uncomfortable.
I thought about you lots last night
The moon and I were friends
We kept each other company
Companions 'til the end
I counted sheep to fall asleep
It didn't work too well
But once I had you on my mind
Off the cliff I fell
A deep doze then enveloped me
A dream state soon ensued
A lakefront through a vista
The vision was imbued
With a woman silhouetted
Beneath the shimmering trees
Approaching from behind her
I weakened at the knees
My arms then wrapped around her waist
On her neck I placed a kiss
She turned and looked right at me
Her eyes said "yes" to this
Her hair was blowing in the wind
I moved it with my hand
I brushed it back from off her face
Her beauty was so grand
We walked a path together
It led us to a shore
No words were necessary
We knew we wanted more
Unclad from any branding
Hand in hand we waded in
And then we swam, three elements
Water, skin, and skin
A night aflame continued
The morning came too soon
But waiting for me when I woke
Was my old friend, the moon
Our fingers would endlessly be intertwined
My favorite sensation would be your breath on the back of my neck
That is if I was your love
But you are wrapped around her little finger
And when you breath fans me my blood runs cold
I would be breath taken by you beauty as nothing earthly compares
Sleeping softly as I knew you would dance across my dreams
That is if I was your love
But your not my beauty to behold
And my dreams of you are haunting
I would memorize every inch of your skin
Happiness only awarded by being by your side
That is if I was your love
But I’m tormented in wanting to know the unknown of you
And your welcomes burn me
Oh if I was your love
ROSE MOON FOR LOVERS
Vibrancy
of vesper-velvet gown
Buddleia glass slippers fall to ground
Fairy lights,
the climaxing of stars,
in blue-eyed diamond-facet orbs
Riveting
rose moon, kiss of jasmine
in cimmerian shade of Eden
Silhouette
flirt, her bodacious trunk,
vines wrapped around her beckoning arch
3/8/2021
Images in Parallel Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
PS Syllable counter verified 3/6/9 syllable count
first to arrive at the karaoke bar
and always last to leave
she put it all out on the line
the glitz the glamour
the looks the swagger
her sequin gown would glitter
all night as she played the star
high on killer stilettos
a glass of wine or two
she sure could belt out tunes
tease the audience
with her flirtatious moves
soon she’d have them
eating out of her hand
wrapped around her pinky
shamelessly addicted
to the lights and the attention
hooked on echoes of applause
AP: Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2021
Posted on October 25, 2020
Each link a tear drop dripping down her face
Wrapped around her thought’s weighting within
Memories of torture and pain through the years
Thought’s and memories wanting them to disappear
Four boy’s also wrapped in chains unable to escape
Sleepless night’s of fear and fright alone and ashamed
No escaping theses chains of thought’s and hope
That will never disappear
Dedicated To: My Mother
There was a Tilley Willy in her back
It was a seasoned one with pneumonia hack.
Sasha had been trying to shake it since lunch
It had grown up with the McMillian bunch.
It had tentacles that wrapped around her twice.
Tilley Willy thought living inside her was truly nice.
Other humans and dogs have ticks, lice and fleas.
She kept begging it to leave using manners and please.
The Tilley Wiley was determined to stay forever
Then she met a comedienne quite nice and clever
So she encouraged Sasha to stand really close
And that Tilley Wiley jumped from host to host.
Sasha’s pneumonia promptly and abruptly went away
The comedienne had a ridiculous cold the very next day.
I met my lovely candy bar
among the sweetest gifts in life-
the sweetest gift on earth by far-
a woman to be called my wife.
I found her in a golden box,
a ribbon wrapped around her waist.
Of awesome features are her locks
a joyful smile and handsome face.
I listen to her graceful words
and long to know her fruitful heart.
Her songs are sweeter than the birds
and lightly sung as if a harp.
Indeed, I found this special girl;
Together we'll conquer the world.
Chanté Walker
Wednesday 8-7-2019 11:12 AM
What is there to say about a woman feeling fragile ?
Not just any ordinary woman,
A woman who has felt the pain, punishment.
That's only her trying to survive the ongoing battle within herself.
She lives in her own personal hell,
with handcuffs wrapped around her brain.
With only a sheet to protect her from the fiery emptiness that's always inside her brain.
What is there to say about a woman?
A woman feeling fragile.
Her soul is tired and wants to stop the rollercoaster ride.
This pain and punishment is too much to bear,
She wishes she could end it all with a mere slice to her throat.
Let her soul drain her till death does her a part.
Because if not all her pain and punishment and her constant feeling of her fiery emptiness,
It will take hold strangle the very essence she was.
That pain she felt is what made her very soul, it's what made her.............
Have you met the new girl?
I admitted that I had not.
She is nuts.
Aha. Suddenly I pay more attention.
Have you met Sheila?
Not yet.
She wears crazy stuff, and she talks weird. She does not fit in here at all.
My dendrites start to go wild, wondering now, if two people can be right?
I go into my third grade classroom and look around.
Disappointed, because I do not see a new girl at all.
I was sick yesterday, which means I missed Sheila’s first day.
Apparently she is in another room today, learning how we should all behave.
When she finally enters the room there is a commotion, so I look up from the
Book I am sneak-reading inside my desk.
Sheila is fabulous! She has bright red hair, and more freckles than me.
She is wearing a lavender and orange scarf wrapped around her head.
I notice other girls are acting snotty already, noses in the air.
She alienated most of them yesterday.
I trip her as she walks by. She catches herself, and smiles at me.
My new best friend has arrived!
The efik/ibibio people might call her ADIAHA
THE IGBO'S calls her Ada
A true born African
her hips seals lips
for a thousand words are wrapped around her waist... And
Her chest carries a mountain
A canaan of its own
Flowing with MILK AND HONEY
even Israel can't compete
for her mind has won more battles than JOSHUA ever did with a sword..
Her dark skin tell the tales of her originality..
She is the African salad.. Every man wish to taste..
The young ones look up to her while their mother's reminisce
She feed lord lugard and Nnamdi Azikiwe even before they knew how to spell their names..
She was there when Ojukwu declared war on her sons and her daughters were made barren..
She is the mother of poets and the inventor of poetry...
Stories were like poems in her mouth even before Hollywood could master the art...
Her tongue had painted more pictures in the heart of her children
so Her HISTORY they never forget
#MAMA_AFRICA
The paint on the wall , tells a story about a girl , who was vulnerable and broken...
Darkness in everywhere , and you can notice when you stare , that an anchor wrapped around her nick makes her choking....
Tears run down her face , no sort of hope or light to chase , she can't stop screaming...
She tight her eyes and pray , but the pain don't fade away , she slowly stops from breathing....
The paint on the wall , tells a story about a girl , who is hurting...
From the very start , flames contains her heart , her soul is burning...
She's all alone , her strength has gone, so she held the white flag to death and started to wave...
She fought as possible as she could and maybe more than she should , hard end she had but yet so powerful, so brave...
So the paint that's on the wall , tells a story about a girl , who had the strongest fight...
A battle to release herself from darkness , a battle to guide her soul towards light...
The girl in the paint that's on the wall will always be there....
And you may see her ghost if you just stood and stare...
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