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Mahami Mahama Poem
I sat through the long nights,
Bit my fingernails, reminisced about joys I could no longer find,
And so all along I knew it in my fragile mind:
The warmth and love I yearned for was a bigger lie.
My memory foam has one body and bed sheets are on the grayer side.
My pupils dilate in the absence of a brighter light.
They stay wide… I could be blinded by the smallest lights.
A glimmer of hope could be sharper than the butcher’s knife.
It almost feels like I’m at the bottom of a landslide.
My memories don’t carry the same warmth that they used to have.
I’m not even sad; I can’t remember what it means to feel.
Life is predictable. No surprises, just a lonely mind.
It’s not peaceful; it’s an empty, unstable mind.
Sometimes I’m too tired to laugh at a decent joke,
Too distracted to even notice when my smile broke.
I’ve got my head high and chest out like a proud bloke.
I can only do so much until the stars show.
Creeping eyes around, they’ve been looking at me,
Writing detailed notes about what they see.
I thank the stars for being dim with the lights.
I can’t imagine what they’d write if they could see at night.??????????????????????????????????????????????????
Copyright © Mahami Mahama | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Mahami Mahama Poem
I’m feeling childish today.
I’ve got my pink socks ankle high.
I’m wearing platform boots to add an inch of height.
My belt sparkles when in contact with a ray of light.
I just set up my camera, everyone, watch me shine.
I’d play music and dance in the rain at night.
It’s a beautiful distraction from the lows of life.
I met a girl today, she said hi and smiled.
I’ll remember it when it’s time to sit and cry.
It’s sundown again, and the darkness creeps in.
No rain today, so I put on shades.
Can’t let anyone see the red in my eyes.
The music will carry me through — when I listen, time flies.
I’m not secure enough to open up to people.
I usually wait it out, till the feeling is neutral,
till it’s grey lights and auditory exclusions,
till it’s headaches, numbness, and seclusion.
I can’t remember what a heartbeat feels like.
I can’t remember what I want to feel like.
Once a while, when I’m feeling childish,
I act out emotions, like a ‘print and publish.’
Copyright © Mahami Mahama | Year Posted 2026
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