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What I fought to speak

The cracked walls fallen from home
Only grey pictures hung by humans in the parlor
You remembered the time in space?
The breezing laughter of mongers, conscious mood
Wielding a double-edged blade
Readily equipped with six sense of battalions
When I tried the strength of my youth to speak
Ears sometimes vomited red blood in gallons
Cajoled the dark on a ransom for my life
Body sanctified in a sacrificial state of lies
Aware of the terrible stairs in the building
When the burns from their incense caress my being human
In April my eyes do pop out like a lost owl
From where my weeping nose feels ashamed in its skirt
Day became chains that needed prison break
Found night as a concubine and not wife
To entertain one night stand in a house full of cracks
Is inhumane where pregnant bodies dance
And guys wear stripes of black and white t-shirt
Once a day tells me my mouth needs two dots
Twice everyday forces me to blot sour milk
When I made the staircase my passage of truth
Pore holes deepen and sweat tastes bitterness
Of what I speak

Daniel Ajayi is a Lagos born writer and poet who writes anything but
not everything from the reading of nature. He enjoys researching, and had
been learning about what makes life better. His works have appeared on Ovi Magazine, Tuck Magazine, Failed Haiku, Bravearts Africa, The Voice Project, Aphelion Zinc, Sierra Leone Web, WSA, Oddball Magazine, Piker Press, nantygreens, Storried, and elsewhere. You can follow him on Instagram @_museofapoet.

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