Before bleeding a sea brokennessMy wrist spits a miracle of red, a razor danced it open.
Nothing sings through an open wound but pain— like thorns,
or seeds of coldness hitching a hurt. I count a million scar
written on the walls of my skin, says it’s a birthmark, says it’s a route
stretching towards home. Tell me, do newborns also give birth to scars?
Each morning I burn memories and bury their remains inside a poem,
I carve my country too as a metaphor for cravenness, and ask
Why her longings are for innocent souls. But before grief breaks my breath,
I’ll call out my old skin like a new moon.
I’ll hatch this darkness into a dance with fireflies, their bulbs
winking my gloominess into the glory of a sun. I’ll write a new
poem with my lover’s name beaming in each line.
The earth will no longer crave me, even tears will
be an abomination to my face.
Tonight, I repeat. I’ll crack my fears & search for an escape
before bleeding a sea of brokenness.
wisdom adediji is a genre bending writer from the city of Ibadan southwest Nigeria. He is a lover of art and nature. His works have appeared/forthcoming on arts lounge, black boy like that review, arcuute, world voices magazine and elsewhere. He’s an undergraduate of the university of Ibadan. Say hi on Instagram @wisdomadediji7 Twitter: @WisdomAdediji
art: weather patterns – field # 7, a visual poem by robert frede kenter (c) (2023). Twitter: @frede_kenter