Poetry – Page 5 – Akunna Ezekwem

September 10, 2018September 10, 2018

Bagels And Sriracha Sauce – II.

Adaptation is your number one enemy,
But you would master her.
You would learn not to flinch when he raises his hand,
Because unlike the previous, these hands descend gently,
Not with anger, with love and affection.
You would learn that these walls only enclose you,
From experiences created for your enjoyment,
You would learn to listen and believe,
Not everyone is out to get you,
Not every man is there to betray.
It is okay to open up,
It is okay to get to be understood.
That’s normal and that’s healthy,
In an environment built on mutual interest.
Most of all, you would learn to stop being ashamed.
Only you know why you flinch and cross your arms.
Why you take a step back and speak through clenched jaws.
You learned to protect yourself during a downpour of darts,
And you would unlearn it to permit love to enter,
But you would not be ashamed.

August 15, 2018August 15, 2018

Bagels And Sriracha Sauce – I.

In time, you would find a man,

Whose body familiarises itself with yours,

And urges him to wake up,

10 minutes before yours does.

A man who crawls out of bed so quietly ,

Just to fix you breakfast.

It’s bagels, eggs, avocado and sriracha sauce,

You hate 4 out of 4 of those items.

But you love it,

Because you love him,

And that would never change.

A blessing and a curse.

July 20, 2018July 20, 2018

Lost And Not Found.

I had lost my innocence trying to persevere,
Misplaced my happiness by choosing to stay,
Given up my voice listening to yours.
Most of all,
I lost my compassion trying to guard my heart.

I’m not the same person.

July 10, 2018July 9, 2018

Baby.

I only call you baby in hushed voices.
At 2am while twisted up in positions yoga instructors consider dangerous.
But none of that matters,
because my words of endearment are drowned,
By drum and base.
Apple music, google play, soundcloud.
There’s jacquees and dvsn,
The weeknd and my imagination.

“Yes baby”

Shhh not too loud, you might hear me

July 8, 2018July 8, 2018

Calm

Close your eyes and count to ten.
Is life calmer now than it was then?
How long have you suffered?
Tell me, since when..
Did you choose to shrink yourself?
When did this all begin?
The world is full of evil,
Darling you are not the first to sin.
So lift your head up and pull your hair back
Just like you do his foreskin.
The world is our oyster,
And you are here to win.

July 2, 2018

Don’t Love Me, I’m A Writer.

Please don’t touch my soul,
Not with those hands, black as coal.
As I would relive every single moment,
For years on end.
And in my poetry, you would see your name,
Like it was mine to reinvent.

Our memories would stay trapped in my heart ,
As I am dramatic; an exclamation mark enveloped in mortal skin.
So I would turn our love experience into a hundred different stories told to the world,
I refuse to keep it hidden.

I would find a way to describe you
Your smile, humour, wit;
With as many nouns and adjectives as the dictionary permits.
I would paint pictures of your eye watering physique,
So engulfed in your masculinity, my legs felt weak.

I would throw in hints of past times indicating nostalgia,
Hormones burned hot, even our drinks were up in flames.
I would throw in inside jokes;
Mostly dry and somewhat impenetrable,
While reinstating that it’s a me problem.

I would drag our few seconds of love for as long as I can manage:
For as long as my heart can endure
Because the moment I begin to lose my memories,
I lose my melodies.
I’ll have no stories to tell, no inspiration,
No paintings to create, no blood drawn illustrations,
No poetry.

So please, leave your mark on me but not painfully.

June 30, 2018June 28, 2018

Want.

I want to be beautiful.
Like roses in a bunch,
Like Christopher’s during brunch.

I want to be soft.
Like cashmere against my skin,
Like silk moving freely in the wind.

I want to be happy.
Like children after school,
Like carpenters with a new set of tools.

I want to be everything.
Like you are to me,
Like you would always be.

June 28, 2018June 28, 2018

Sleepless Nights.

Each night, my body turns restlessly,
Swimming through perspiration.
While hoping no, praying,
That maybe, God willing,
I catch a whiff of your perfume,
Buried in the soul of my pillowcase.
It’s been a few days,
Which feel like weeks or even years.
I know this is a futile attempt,
But life feels impossible without your support.
So I dig deeper,
Like my nose was a drill,
And I could somehow unearth the gold that once plated these sheets.
The masculinity,
The mood, ambience, silent whispers.
The experience both exhilarating and comforting,
Why aren’t you next to me?

May 16, 2018

How?

I don’t blame you, I blame me,
For fantasising about tomorrow,
In a relationship that didn’t deserve to see today.
For dreaming about what could be,
Convincing myself that drunken words came straight from the soul,
Knowing full well that nothing strengthened my lies like liquor,
And my creativity reached its peak after a drag of Mary J.
So why did I kid myself into believing that intoxication equates to honesty?
Maybe I was different, maybe this was different.
While only just realising that I deserved to be respected and loved and considered,
I thought maybe just maybe you could be the one.
My summer morning sunrise and beautiful evening sunset,
My healthy bowl of salad and sneaky cheat meal.
I thought you could be what I deserved and vice versa.
So I let my mind wander,
And my emotions over flow,
While I incorporated thoughts of you into my daily ritual.
While I shied away from social circles saturated with men,
Afraid of having a piece of the forbidden fruit.
What if a seed was planted within me that refused to die?
Then it would be me and him, not you and I,
And the world wouldn’t make much sense.
Because you were there in the beginning;
Through my self hate and lack of confidence,
You walked through my closed doors and gave me an experience.
For once, I couldn’t walk away,
Even at the peak of my uncertainties,
I always found a reason to stay.
How could this not be it?
How could you not be the one?

May 10, 2018May 10, 2018

Back Home.

It’s easy to forget,
With the wind in your hair
And the unfamiliar taste of beer.
With music and laughter and vibes,
It’s easy to forget your fears,
The reason your soul cries,
And bleeds and hurts.
It’s the alcohol telling you lies
Like you’ll be okay,
Because it was never that deep.
But you get home,
Put your keys through the lock
And let yourself in.
Only to breathe an air of remembrance,
An air of familiarity.
This wasn’t made up, it’s a reality.
Forgetfulness doesn’t live here,
Not while there’s traces of evidence
In every inch of your living space.
This isn’t home anymore,
It’s a repertoire of memories…
Is your heart racing?
Because mine is too.