You are perched on your couch,
wine glass in hand, red liquid floating.
You question the world for always being a brick wall,
a cluster of uncontrolled voices declaring war on your name.
It is about walking into a noisy room & not finding your voice.
Because they say you wear the plague on your body.
Because they call you “different” in accusation.
Because you’re a rain of sad, pathetic things.
But then you are a foreign body in a gathering of locals.
your mouth carries a language groomed for godhood.
Whispering into their ears, you fold their lives into a prayer,
resting comfortably on your tongue, you bless them with the middle
As always, your shadow will be an idol of many things but
with wine tasting like sex, a whole bottle will be trapped inside your
About the Writer:
Michael Akuchie is a Nigerian emerging poet. He studies English and Literature at the University of Benin, Nigeria. His recent work appears on Barren Magazine, Anti-Heroin Chic, Ghost City Review, TERSE, Mojave Heart, Kissing Dynamite, Burning House, Neologism Poetry Journal and elsewhere. He is on Twitter as @Michael_Akuchie. He is a Contributing Editor for Barren Magazine.