Emotions and Experiences.
Those are the two things that drive my poetry. I write when I’m sad, happy, confused, frustrated, excited, angry, you name it. I write when I’ve just been through something crazy, accomplished something, started a new chapter in my life. I write when I can, and when I can’t.
I got into poetry when I was very small, since I loved it when things rhymed. As I got older, I developed interests in a lot of things: graphic design, photography, public relations, advertising, fashion, journalism, and more! But my love of poetry, and reading and writing, remained. My works of poetry are featured here. Enjoy your stay!
Didn’t Know Better
It started at private school
Bossy and attention whore…
Love and Soul
Every time you fall in love
You lose a part of your soul…
You and Monsters Have Nightmares
Since you were young
You’ve always had the same nightmares...
Mask
No one cared who I was
Until I put on the mask…
Toothpicks
I felt the toothpicks mocking me
From their round jar in the cabinet…
Lesson Learned
Looking back, it wasn’t love
Looking back, I made many mistakes…
The Cursed Ones
You must watch
For the cursed ones…
Photograph
When we woke that morn,
we saw the snow had fallen the night before,…
Her Skin
Her skin was carved
With scars…
Cover Your Eyes
One moment
the mallet was swinging...
The Plain Dotted with Rocks
Behind my house
There is a trail…
Live with It
How do you live with it?
How do you forget?…
Choice
It is your choice.
To continue with a worthless life…
Black Girls
I see the other black girls
With their crop tops, short shorts,…
Dear Xia
Dear Xia,
Everytime I see the bright colors…
Dear Isaac
Dear Isaac
My beautiful and bright…
Away
It was at 10 o’clock that night
A night with clear skies…
Our Daughters, Our Little Girls
They are our daughters
Our little girls…
Money Rules the World
Money rules the world
And ain’t that the truth…
Cage
She sat in that cage for years
Never once realizing that it was a cage…
A Girl of Fire
A girl of fire
Born in a cold world…
First
First day
It was her first day…
Gilded Halls, Jilted Doll
In gilded halls, there was a jilted doll...
She lives the poetry she cannot write.
Oscar Wilde
Deborah Afolabi 