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RAPE

Dear Mberede,How is everything with you? Let’s just broker this for judgement. First,It was a tease. A reminder of my carefully crafted work of art.

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DYSMENORRHEA

Assuming a scissors stance with legs crossedRegrets drizzled her memoryGazing furtively around the roomShe was lost in thought Wearing an unkempt look and a wrinkled

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WHERE I CALL HOME

I grew up in a makeshift hutWhere anger bore holes on our leaky roofHere, we filtered laughter often to weigh its worthUrchins – There were

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A LETTER TO MY COUNTRY MAN

You call them WAZOBIA! His tribal marks remind you of how Iya Bisi tore your skin with strokes The aroma sizzles through your nostrilsBrushing your

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FANTASY

May 12th, A freaky morning With sunken eyes, in the wee hours Awaken for the umpteenth time to pass water Grasps the mobile phone with

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FLAWS AND ALL

If there is one thing I cherish, it would be how your lip trembles when you call me Barbie. The way I watch each letter

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DIARY OF A TYPICAL BOY

The longest piece you might read today WHO YOU CALL BOY On days like this, I conclude a boy’s face is an emoji. A million

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I WAS HERE

On noons like this – scorching I’m a Venn diagram The subject matter trapped in your stubby fingers Stuck on the tip of your blunt

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CHRONOLOGY OF BEING HOME

A SCORE CARD 1.Home is fun. I always pretend.Here, work beckons.One of the reasons I never liked paying a visit. The cozy sitting room with

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WANTING TO TELL GOD

I’m starving!Why does it take too long for justice to be served?A slice of Esau’s porridgeChunk of mannaOr salt from Lot’s wife God is asleepSnoring!Not

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