But hell
My father decides I’m not his
Since I’m not here yet
Having not even been conceived
I can only go by hear say
My father screwed my mother on leave no doubt
Then shortly thereafter or before
A skin disease that is treated by radiation making him sterile for ten years
Well him, and his Army buddies, were convinced I could not be his
So came the rage
At my mother
Then me
The fights were terrible
I, one, two, three, and four
Am made to feel insecure
To say the least
For many years I felt worthless
But look this could be a good thing
For feeling imperfect I
Strove for perfection
To utilize buried pain
The irritating sand that makes the pearl
I am hard and round
I am smooth as silk
I have become that pearl
Of great price
You can laugh at my past follies
And there have been many
I could have grabbed the reins of many an advantage
What you hold, holds you
I let it all go
And held fast

Binas Non Sunt = 418

Wilson Hill

About Ijagun Poetry Journal

Ijagun Poetry Journal is a quarterly journal that provides a platform from which we can tell our own stories in the authenticity of their multiplicity through the poetic medium. We don’t want to hear these stories from our master “griots” alone; we want to hear from those mastering their art, too. Hence, we aim at publishing new and emerging poets. We also welcome the works of established poets in order to encourage the poetic genius of those mastering poetic art. We prize original works that conform to, break or reinvent conventions. Again, we accept reviews and critical essays on poetry. We also accept powerful art works and photographs that make us appreciate the "poetry" in everything.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s