Skip to main content

Earthen Vessel


Emmanuella loves Chimamanda , You can see it in her elastic use of words!
You will enjoy this, trust me.




From dust we came, to dust we shall return
Nothing lasts forever
Not even this elastic heart of mine
The eye, they say, is the window to the soul
How I wish you could see me , deeply
Love me, intimately
More than the tenderness of my sugar brown skin

Search me and see
If you will not find another world inside of me
That gives you meaning and a reason to say
‘I love you’ and mean it
It may be easier than you think
But I guess I’ve always known that your interest lies in this earthen vessel that isn’t really mine

Fall in love with my soul and not just my body
Take your time to explore me
Don’t rush it, just trust the process
But after two years
You have no idea what ignites my fire
You don’t know what makes me smile
Or makes me wish I could live forever

No, I’m no longer in for your cheap thrills
Or fancy gifts
You’re not my happy ending, no regrets still
You don’t care for me
Not beyond what your eyes can see
It hurts more than you know
But maybe this earthen vessel is all you’ll ever know .

Photo Credit : Utibe-Eno Ekpuk



 Emmanuella Henshaw is from Cross River State, currently studying for an LLB degree in Law , University of Calabar.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie inspires her!




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

LESSONS FROM TWENTY SOMETHING(s) by Veralyn Chinenye

1, Stop Counting people's blessings ~ It is interesting to admire your friend's success, but don't try to compare and contrast, you're different persons and your paths have been mapped out. When the temptation to compare especially on bad days fingers my eyelids, I pull out my gratitude journal and write out five things I'm grateful for. It could be as little as being able to keep to time or even for being mentioned in a good will comment by a friend. Being grateful opens us up for more. 2, Try Leadership and Politics ~ I think there are two different things, one is seen as good and the other is seen as bad. The mention of the word "politics" get us grabbing our bags, and the mention of "leadership" gets us spreading our clothes in the open. My involvement in both has impacted my life and my dealing with others. I see both as siamese twins. Politics makes good leadership and Leadership makes good politics. You should try it! ...

Miles from Independence by Tydale Bassey Abigail

Day87 #365daypoetrychallengeforadvocacyandsocialchange Our cloths have torn Our hairs grown bushy Bones emaciated and legs swollen Muscles displaced And our vision discouraged... The path behind us looks abandoned by haggard legs, Bushy as if untrodden See, our babies have died Our kids starved Our boys imprisoned Our girls raped Husbands and wives betrayed And the aged disappointed... Yet the eyes of our polity bulges like the blind statues of Nok Culture We used to have hopes, But they are now tired in the arms of abortion The promises of independence have become stillborn; Mutilated with the bamboo of corruption. Even the wishes that once painted our eyelids Are beginning to wear away Yet the senses of our constitution have breathed only heat on the sore skins of our destinies The song of the national flag has become the loudest noise sung by toothless leaders; A pirate declaration to our unity in diversity Our capital cities are plinths...

FACELESS

She, with her gentle smile, crafted carefully to hide the storm that raged within. He, with his quiet strength, a mask worn to protect the brokenness inside. Both survivors of a pain that had no name, no face, but lingered like a shadow in their hearts. They told her to endure—because girls are resilient, aren't they? They told him to be strong—because boys don’t break, do they? But what they didn’t know was how deep their wounds ran. How the darkness of night wrapped around them both, suffocating their dreams, Or how the silence became their companion, as they each learned to carry the burdens of their untold stories alone. She tucked her tears beneath layers of laughter, her voice fading into whispers no one seemed to hear. He buried his shame beneath an armor of indifference, pretending that nothing could touch him, even as the weight pressed down harder. They were different, yet so much the same. Two souls, marked by trauma, bound by a shared truth: that pain knows no gender. I...