whatever you say into the wind takes form,
for there is power in your tongue, the preacher said
ever since, I’ve been waging war
with the wind with my tongue
the wind has refused to shapeshift
o, how I envy the sky
how it sheds tears
& everyone cheers
today I chose to study my anatomy
I picked my eyes from the rest of my body
if the eyes are windows to the soul,
a tear is a soul free from suicide
I wonder
if I am a breathing cadaver
I picked my mouth,
a hut with mortified stories
I picked my body,
a battlefield brimming with death
I wish I could be a butterfly,
not tangled in a spider web
I wish I could be a free bird,
not trapped in a cage
I wish being a boy
is not a euphemism for a toy
Joemario Umana writes from Maiduguri. He’s a SprinNG fellow, a member of The Writers Manger Network and Poetic nest. He has a poetry gazelle published by Konya Shamsrumi titled A Flower Is Not The Only Thing That’s Fragile. His poems are published in journals like Brittle Paper, Strange Horizons, Isele Magazine and elsewhere. He tweets @JoemarioU38615.
