When I tell my body
to not leave me on cold nights
and seek warmth in lit streets
and in bodies that smell of cheap sex,
beer and cigar smoke, it
laughs, shakes its fleshy frame and
takes me in a full stare. It mocks me
and I know because every time I
cry myself to sleep, I hear my body’s
voice: loud and unwilling to
submit to fun. Instead it drowns itself in it.
Some days I am master of my body,
other days welcome my incomplete life
and listen to my pathetic monologue about
how I lost by body to the world
and why I am a “happy ever after”
always manages to break into
shrapnel that resemble failure.
In my head, I am too
broken to resist my body
from dragging me further downwards.
It breaks me. It empties out my soul. It abuses me fiercely.
Michael Ifeanyi Akuchie is a writer who hails from Imo, Nigeria. He’s currently a sophomore studying English and Literature at University of Benin, Nigeria.
His works have been featured on online magazines and literary journals including Antarctica Review, Storried, Pencillite, Praxis Mag Online, Blueparrot magazine and elsewhere.
He loves RnB music and Stephen King novels