Photo credit: Raj Stevenson via Flickr.

 

You are perched on your couch,

wine glass in hand, red liquid floating.

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You question the world for always being a brick wall,

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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

finger.

 

As always, your shadow will be an idol of many things but

submission,

with wine tasting like sex, a whole bottle will be trapped inside your

mouth.

 

 

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.