If I had a title..

Stagnation bleeding into deprivation
A regression in gestation,
seems my mind’s been on vacation

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Observer

iris: I

        risk

    my 

        sight as I peer into your life. 

Wonder

Maybe I’ve rushed,

thinking life needed to start here now & like this  

Maybe I’ve not started,

waiting for strife to end here now & like this

Maybe they coincide;

perhaps life here,

is meant to be lived in the now,

even alongside strife,

just like this

Aside

Palindrome

My limit

It’s limitless

My sky knows no boundaries;

what lining of which cloud?

There is no end,

we only beg for the means to an end,

we only begin

 

Every fresh start is the tail of an end and every end begs to begin

Don’t tell,

no don’t dare

to pen the woes of completion’s friend–

don’t push me to bend that I may contort my frame into a twisted cage of mess,

screaming and squeezing to ascended depths of excess stress,

digested mess

 

My limit has no end

No final lap to bend

You’ll beg for the means to an end, 

cutting off all buds blooming into your hands

 

There is no end,

we always begin

The notebook

Your poetry is a beautiful expansion of a glass-stained soul

Be it timid, or with tumult, your soul is lined with life’s notes

Another thought

(..powerful when spoken..I encourage you to read this aloud..enjoi.)

My life is a thought, a thought to continue

I’ve yet to find the beginning and the end is far from near

I’m looking down and every wicked desire I have ever wanted has become mine,

in just this instant, in just this time

I’m looking up.

I’m finally looking up.

My life is a thought,

in thought,

made up of my thoughts that I’ve believed

Mixed good with the bad,

and I’ve believed in my bad far more than I’ve known my light

Open a mind

and that life’s design

to renewed views, loves and truths

Shift thought,

Shift schema,

Shift minds,

change time.

Acne & Guns

Festering pockets of warm fear–

parallel tears chasing and comforting one another as they free fall to new depths,

it was only this morning this rebel was a child.

See the youth in his stance, as knocked-knees beg for mercy.

Immaturity lives in his eyes as they flailingly search for directions in unanswered query.

Watch him pull a trigger, and be forced back by a strength greater than his will to stand.

Gunpowder entering his lungs, staining his sight, dirtying the stark resolve once sheltered in a now stone-cold, lifeless, still murmuring heart.

His heart is quiet and his spine, without life.

Even still, he feels

Death his daily bread, he begs to be stilled, filled.

Festering pockets burst and leak his resolve down, down, down past craters of his face.

Bloodied only after incessant manipulation,

it was only this morning this rebel was a child.

M.Kanu

*this poem was written yesterday, I just didn’t post! Hope you love it and share!

Seeya

Raindrop in your eye,

the sting of goodbyes

Yelling out “I don’t wanna,”

I’d truly wished the sun wouldn’t come up

Then, loving the burn of the sun and the chill when she hid,

present, wide eyes of realization on my face,

that in this space,

this place,

this is where we needed to stay.

M. Kanu

A poem a day…

I’m a lover of varied interests, and by now I’ve firmly cultivated a deep love for poetry. You may think, how does a fashion blog relate to poetry? Easy; expression is realized through more than one medium so whether I’m wearing it, singing it, or writing it, my thought has power.

To challenge my creativity and get out of the mindset of waiting for inspiration (which, is essential but doesn’t quite push for growth), I’ll be writing an original poem every day. I hope that many of you who share my love of written expression will join and grow with me, or even if you’re not a writer, I hope that this poetry can spark seeds of creation within us all.

Mariama