ishiukwu

uwafulamiro:

i do not want the all over gentle ones who move me like i am made of spun sugar, brittle like my mother’s teeth, stretched like my father’s temper. i do not want the ones who want soft moons, with just enough crescent for a sufficient edge, tender slivers of light they can bring home to their mothers. i do not want them near me, with their worlds like a clear aura, like pretty pictures and water like diamonds, like a place i used to live in. i want them to lock their doors and drop prayers like a carved bar across a desperate door, i want them to shutter themselves and not dare to love me, for i am coming over the hill like a bitter sunrise, like a monster, like a boiling shadow.

let them send for the ones like me, who burn up the air like walking suns. i want the ones who move me like i am made of rage and metal, like i cannot break a second time, with indelicate violences and tongues like knives. i want the ones who seize throats and force the sky to its knees, the unforgiving ones with wicked tendons and wicked thoughts. their worlds are like storms, like roaring pictures and water like ink, like a place i thirst to find. i want to lock myself in with them and run out of air, to be loved like a hungry weapon, to lie in bruises like a bloody sunset, with a monster, with a burning shadow.