Written by Promise Micheal

Just how she likes her hair to be,

but not exactly how she would like her words to be.

It is not an argument she can win,

not when the world around her fastens her thoughts

before they fall off her lips.

Quite often, she would stare into the void,

like she could make out something that looks like her,

and then hold onto that figure with a gaze so relaxed.

There is a thin line between who she loves and what she loves.

Sometimes, it is the sound of her father stomping his way through her,

and burying the seeds on her face right after.

He would make hand signs

over his lips, as if to blow a kiss to his lover.

Other times, it is how quiet the world becomes,

when she buries herself in the bath tub, under water.