Be Formless | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 314: BE FORMLESS

his emotions are scattered stars,

dangling from cloudless skies,
forming their own constellation,

light years away from the norms
that feed the stereotypes,
threatening to engulf him,
in the arms of presumed masculinity,

he, like the rest, whose lips,
have been sealed,
from uttering words emotion laden,
lest 'weakness' becloud his manliness

this, my boy, is how for forebears
pocketed genuine blushes,
bottled up physiological bruises,
built biceps over broken hearts,
and drowned pain in bottles of beer,

but boy, you could be none of those

be yours
your very own temptation,

fall deeply into your essence
and pay no heed to boxed opinions of you,

pull out of the square holes,
and roll about, carefree

in love? blush,
if you can

and when you hurt,
let the faucet of tears run freely
down your cheeks,

no, not in the rain,
under the glaring eyes of sun rays

boy, like water,
air,
fire,
be formless,

the world would adjust to you

be
you

#BoysAreNotStones
#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician #SSA

Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!

Comments

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies" "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat" After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?" "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

Letter To My Son

Dear Son Try to forget that nothing waits in the dark, raise your shoulder high wave off the frea and step into that lane. Won't you rather be gone in there than stay out here playing the coward? Get up now, son everyone falls. #Pengician #SSA http://bit.ly/2haEhoj

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold patriotis...

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog