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I am always shocked that slowly,

i’m turning into a sad flower.

the things that should keep me alive

are really the same things masterminding

under the sheets

my body to egress my name.

i sit out often times under the drunk clouds

counting the wild teeth of the sun,

that comes with mutilated metaphors, withered photographs & sad clapping

maybe, i shouldn’t trust anymore the strides

of my instinct—drenched specimen of me

that cannot pause the swirling toes of this pains, or probably i should learn to teach

my tongue how to glorify sadness.

Lord, will i ever embrace the testament of healing? the night comes but it leaves me with shivering arms that crucified itself to

swollen pillows like  dried plantain leaves

i have seen what scars look like—something like a rusty communion cup that leaves me death in solitude with lugging memories  shrugging  on me like an housefly’s wing

& birth a poet into a wild prayer burning

with scattered tendrils of words that may soon evaporate to become another requiem.

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Anderson Moses (nicknamed Son of Moses) is a poet from a small village in Akwa Ibom State, Nigeria. He's a student of History and International Studies, at the University of Uyo. His works have been published/forthcoming in Arts lounge, Brittle paper, Black boy review, Eboquills, Nantygreens, synchronized magazine, and elsewhere. Apart from writing, he enjoys snapping & editing images.

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