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My Heart Through My Stomach

You are the heat in my lungs brought on by the jollof 

rice the sweet vanilla in the Nigerian custard You are 

the thickest fried plantain in the freshly, fried batch The 

okra soup that swoops and draws so elegantly 

You are the softest puff 

puff And the hottest akara

You are the fish in my moi


The tightness of my wrapper against my chest 

You hold me up, you draw me in, you send me 


-Destiny Adeyemi

The Headache

Growling, at noon and punctual,
it creeps.
It utters ‘hello’.
You sigh. It leaps.
It plays with your mind, at
Hide and Seek,
(it lets you believe it’s just a peek).

And then it oozes,
right down to your neck,
twitching the nerves it’s about to wreck.
It rubs its hands,
filled with delight,
it’s planning, it’s drafting, it’s heaving its fright.

And soon enough,
but oh- too soon,
you drop like dead in spinning room.
Alright, you say, my fate is woe,
I won’t study today.
That’s all. End show.

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