​DESCENT

I tattoo scriptures on my skin because
my insides have known things
temples should not
 
Yes,
it did hurt when I fell from heaven –
the wounds from the fall are graffiti on flesh;
 
and the glint in my eyes you say shimmer
like light at the end of your tunnel
is the after-effect of the lightning, but
 
I cannot tell you this
So I dance in the rain; with the wind; and the thunder
to give you a sign, that though I may look it
 
I am not ordinary
I have graveyards where butterflies should flutter
and dreams buried in my closet
 
I shift at the sight of joy for fear
that it is fleeting – always slipping,
seeping through the cracks of my fingers; and
 
I tattoo scriptures on my skin because
my insides have known things
temples should not
Listen:
I do not want you
to love me as you do
 
I am but a beautifully crafted vase
I do not grow whatever is planted in me.
You will wilt.

​​HOLES 

My mother’s blood pressure has been hitting the roof
and causing holes to siege the zinc
She has been wearing a broken spirit under her skin
and a wave of exhaustion under her eyelids
 
She came out of the toilet with a bucket
and I knew my sobbing had found its way through the pipes
She placed the bucket by my corner
and broke the silence in her soprano
 
“You’ve been crying a river,
And the rains are hesitating
Fill it with your tears
The pain is wasting”
 
How do I tell mother that
the holes that war at my chest cannot be mended by patches of aluminum;
And that the grief racing down my cheeks
cannot be contained by plastic?
 
How do I say “I have lived and I have leaked,
losing more of myself than this roof has let through”
How do I say, without causing more holes:
“Mother, it is not just the roof. I need fixing too”?

BIO:

Osuluku, Woyengideigha Favour, is a student of the Niger Delta University; she scribbles from an empty bookshelf somewhere in Bayelsa.

Her socials:
Twitter - @G_Deigha
Instagram - g.a.deigha