SOMETHING TELLS ME I SHOULD RUN
To the fire that is a memory.
To remembrance that is grief.
Something tells me I should run
To the haunted rooms in my head.
To solace that will never be.
Something tells me I have nowhere to run.
OUR DAUGHTERS DON’T LOVE THEMSELVES (ENOUGH)
Because we teach them not to —
We tell them to tread softly
Lest they intimidate their suitors.
We teach them to be modest
To the point of breaking.
We remind them that they must carry the family
In their wombs, in their hearts, everywhere.
They have learnt to shrink their joys.
We teach them to grin and bear.
Oh, Lord! How can one love herself
When she carries the sins of the whole world?
Poems: © Marvel Chukwudi Pephel
Image: Hernán Piñera via Flickr