I Will Find You.

Mountains of immense heights

Rivers of unfathomable depths

Won’t hinder me. 

Pitch dark, bright light

I will find you 

Pulpit and Pew 1

Hey Mr Preacher man.

In your suit of threadbare cotton,

Hanging on you; limp

Like clothing on a scarecrow.

Hungry you look; hungry you are.

Hello Grim

The most feared being

The inevitable one

You whom light trembles at

And darkness adores;

Grim. 

Black Sheep.

Bla bla black sheep

Have I any wool?

Well yes.

I have a bag full of blackness.

Warm soft wool,

To rid you of some good.

A luggage of my wonderful vices

Spilling out and bursting full

Like Santa’s bag on Christmas eve.

Unabashed, I will flaunt them,

Parade them like they deserve to.

Like a proud Soldier they are my medals of honour

They are my defining elements,

My descriptive features

In my trail follows disappointment and heartache

Behind me runs the tears of they who love me,

They who have not the slightest inkling of what I am.

Without a care or regard for your hearts

I pledge to ignore your pleas.

I am the black sheep

On that long winding road

To seemingly destruction.

I am the black Sheep,

Who never will listen

Who never will you hear

I am the black Sheep 

Who will not only bring you shame,

But promise to shower on you pain. 

Nkem Oyaghire

Childhood Prolonged

Tempus Fugit

Ever spinning clock

Minute and second hands in unison.

Time is flying and I'm stuck in moments

Pictures swimming in my head

Collages of memories.

I can't seem to move beyond the 90's

So I don't grow.

Remain a girl in my head.

Steady in my ever present flashbacks.

Won't be a lady of nineteen

Refusing to acknowledge the raging hormones.

Fire burning in thighs refuting to explain it

Seemingly allergic to the fires.

Curiosity I adamantly restrain.

Still a girl, denying sex, alcohol and drugs.

Tempus fugit.

We are all growing.

I remain a girl, denying my thirthies. 

Body thirsty for growth from a reprobate mind.

Body rebels and won't obey mind.

Tempus Fugit.

I'm older now, not in mind

But in body, actions and social responsibilities

.

Tempus fugit.

My time is running out

Death is near.

My mind still in the 90s, body is ninety.

Breath of the dying seeps from me

Pipe dreams of 6 year old me.

In the lack thereof of an adulthood.

I shall reelish my prolonged childhood.

Without second thought

Would return and iterate. 
Nkem Oyaghire

N.B TEMPUS FUGIT IS LATIN FOR TIME FLIES. 

The Call

It has been four days after;

Idly I sit by my phones

Waiting for the sound of Big Sean

To announce a caller.

Anxious for the beep of a message

Not from the Network

Offering promises of elusive bonuses

But from him.

To tell me he was shy

And he missed me mildly.

To assure me that I'm not mad.

All the while wondering

"What is wrong with me?" 

It has been four days since the first kiss,

Four days since I last felt real butterflies,

Four days since anyone dared,

Four days since a burning of that kind.

Four days since... After a year.

In my mind I have played

The tape of a conversation.

Rehearsed the first words I shall utter

Speculating whether to be coy or nah

To display anger or  nonchalance.

Still unsure as to my preferred reactions

I have prepared myself to sound

Like a lady

To pretend I have been unexpectant

Like I'm not lonely.

All the while ignoring reality,

Willing myself to believe

To have faith

And hold a shred of hope

That it wasn't just it

And that he is not like all of you.

Not a disappointment

Like the past attempts.

Praying he isn't another reason

To not try anymore. 

Nkem