by Michael Akuchie

I mean to wear my hair like a slice cut from a collision. 

Different from normal people, a republic of wildness.

Out in the streets, they catcall, whistle & hurl stones

existing in the currency of insult.

My folks raise a storm of abuse with no shelter

to keep warm when the wind in their lungs snuffs out itself.

At this point, they leave me & a smile widens

the corners of my mouth. 

When I tell them I want to love a woman,

what my father wants is a gun.

When I tell them I could never master love

for a man, my mother rehearses a sermon.

They enforce curfews & sing along with

the preacher on TV. I sit with a blazing heart & a hunger

for the rest of the world, a desire for the euphoria a kiss provides.

A fruit forbidden from touch but not from thought.

Source: From the Rebel Issue (October 2019)


MICHAEL AKUCHIE is a Nigerian poet who is currently pursuing a degree in English and Literature at the University of Benin, Nigeria. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming at The Impossible Task, Sandy River Review, Headway Lit, Rabid Oak, The Hellebore, Peculiars Magazine and elsewhere. He is a Contributing Editor at Barren Magazine. His micro-chapbook, Calling Out Grief is forthcoming with Ghost City Press (July 2019). He is on Twitter as @Michael_Akuchie. 



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