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The Poetic Word

The stories on my inked skin

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Photo Credit: Dan Prado

BY GLORIA O’KOYE

I made sure that every inked needle pierced into my delicate skin

Was earned to the fullest. 

Call it ol’ skool 

But I want to know what was the meaning behind each complex design 

On the days I ask myself 

Why on earth did I do it!

 

These tattoos tell stories 

Way better than expert lens 

Or audio recordings 

The ink paints a vivid picture 

Or encrypted messages that sometimes

Can only be decipher between the physical temple

And Creator

 

These tattoos aren’t for clout chasing 

Or to give off an impression of the 

Big & Bad

Just like what the machine supposed to do,

Permanently leaves its mark 

It has a more therapeutic essence,

A deeper philosophical story than 

Surface cracks. 

 

I sought relief from the continuous pain 

So, I won’t resort to the blade 

To erase shattered reflections

The shards that pierce the scars 

Reopening secrets 

That was protected for my namesake. 

 

So, if I get judged and lose opportunities in securing a steady job

So be it. 

Because they wouldn’t care to hear a squeak of my struggles 

And if my life were to be taken away 

They would brush off the burden to insurance 

And

Post up ‘Help Wanted’ signs the very next day!

 

These tattoos tell stories 

That no words or written work can share.

So, if anyone were to see the tattoos making assumptions,

Just remember it’s on the surface you seek

Only a part of the story you’ll know 

Until you speak to get 10 toes deep.

 

This piece is not to encourage the route I chose

But to give a different glimpse 

Instead of whispers

And entertaining 

Untold assumptions.

 

May you seek more than surface impressions,

And get to know deeper 

the person that you are speaking too.

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The Poetic Word

Anger!

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Photo Credit: Way Home Studio

BY GLORIA O’KOYE

Anger.

Is an infected seed that spreads

Its parasitic roots amongst the healthy,

Sucking out all the energy to feed its

Hostile core.

 

Anger.

A cry for help

Gone unheard,

Dismissed,

Ridiculed by others

Until it is too late to reverse.

 

Anger.

Weeping entities that grew into behemoth

Icebergs that sank ships of inattentive

Folks that didn’t take heed.

Gasping at the inferno storm

That engulfs the intended targets

And catching strays.

 

Anger.

Sprouted by variables,

Some reasons more legit while others

Are confused because of pride.

It can be blinded by veils of blood red,

Tainted by innocence ravished

By the world’s ice-cold hearts and eyes.

 

Anger.

Shoots out a barrage of arrows

Formed by words without thinking twice.

Venomous words at the tip of the tongue

Can cause landslides of emotions.

Sometimes it can cost lives.

 

Anger.

Does not discriminate.

It hits harder on genuine souls that

Constantly get bullied,

Turning their kindred spirits into a beast

That will destroy until nothing is left behind.

 

Anger.

Cannot be fully avoided.

Only reactions be tamed,

One can only fully embrace

To calm anger

Till the end of a jagged road,

When the answers behind Anger

Can be acknowledged,

Laying it to rest finally someday.

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The Poetic Word

Art of Political Warfare

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BY GLORIA O’KOYE

War without logic,

Is like planting seeds without knowing,

The seasons in which the seedlings

Will rise and thrive to the heavens.

War strictly on emotions and passion,

Is like showering the seeds

With overwhelming resources

Without strategy.

 

Too much water, sun and soil

With no calculations can cause

Undetected diseases to destroy

A seed’s crucial foundation.

A society that follows social media justice,

Is doomed when things get real.

 

Protection warranty behind twitter fingers,

Keyboard warriors,

Would defeat the right to remain silence

During mischief court hearings.

Without teachings and common sense,

Fear tactics will prevail.

 

If one enters a movement to find love,

To make friends,

Dangers of destruction are at hand.

Those will come natural

But can never be promised,

How many organizers fall victim

To the matters of the heart.

They gradually forgotten why they were in

This the first place,

This journey can be lonely throughout.

 

An elder and veteran with years of

Political warfare once told the emerging

Youth,

This war is not for the faint of heart.

You must use logic,

Must use your head.

The heart,

Is the reason to push

But it can never lead without the brain

And a plan.

Or be prepared to lose the war in a

Quick pace,

This life has no space for childish games.

Remember the people need to win!

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The Poetic Word

Sweet Child

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Photo Credit: AI Generated

BY GLORIA O’KOYE

A rejuvenating, sweet, innocent newborn scent that can melt the coldest of hearts.

A salve that soothes the itchiness left by worldly scars.

First of everything,

From smiles to sounds can bring peace

Piercing heavy clouds.

 

The purity of a child brings wisdom that can humble

The wisest of teachers from afar.

In the first few weeks of life,

Skin-to-skin between parents and child,

It can strengthen lifelong bonds.

 

It promotes life through connections,

Never underestimate true parental love.

The love of a child can save lives,

Can uplift even when dangling by a thread

Above the turbulent winds

And treacherous seas of fear and doubt.

 

The love of a parent

Can break the lineage of trauma and hurt,

Uproot tainted family trees

In ways that insanity has no way in,

Only culture and traditions can come to full fruition

As they fully sprout.

 

Sweet child,

Don’t ever say that you are never enough.

You came just in time

When the glimmer of hope wants to dim out.

A love of a child

The mind of a child,

Is what the world constantly lacks.

 

Only a childlike faith can enter the gates of heaven,

Surpassing forefathers who grew cold from a dying world

Lies and deceit,

A child will heal those wounds and breathe in life.

 

That power

Sweet child,

No one can ever take it away,

It is highly favored from beyond human comprehension,

Continue to be you

Sweet child.

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