After Ernest Ogunyemi
I wake up and the first thing I do is
check how much the universe has taken
away from me. My feet are cold. I brush
my teeth and spit out blood. I kiss my cat.
Nothing is fitting in my hands again. I pray.
I go higher, but the universe went lower than
I could possibly go. I start all over. My best friend
punched me on the jaw and I tell myself it never happened.
I start all over. I am finding it harder to breathe. Tachycardia.
Google says it’s love but I think what I’m doing is dying.
I start all over, again. I feed my cat. I rub myself
with more lotion than normal. If I am dying inside,
I want to, at least, be shiny on the outside.
An unkindness of raven perched on the barren tree—
I do not understand the language of their songs.
There is so much light here. There is so much light
and I don’t think I can absorb it all.
I fall through the ledge. I start all over again.
Animashaun Ameen (He/Him/His) is a poet and essayist. His writings are mostly centered on memory, sexuality, and identity. His works have appeared/forthcoming in Salamander Mag, Grimscribe Press, Lolwe, Foglifter, Agbowo, Dgeku, and elsewhere. He lives and writes from Lagos, Nigeria. An oddball. A butterfly.
