JENNIE IFEATU

I don't say what's up. I say What's new? Have you seen "I AM NOT PCOS" Its a short spoken word video describing the challenges of women living with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and encouraging them to live out their best life.

I was I am I may never be But when it goes frosty Remember I was the one who tickled the sea The sea has no tranquility Just filled with nothing but blue And a depth that takes even the strong It took him A year later, it was her Now their touch I may never feel Tag me as the one who tickled the sea Possessing beauty not realised Hiding peace to feign being demonized But I know I walked through her Remember I tickled the sea So when the ships fail to sail When fishes find another niche When blue loses its allure Allow this sink in the eyes of your mind I was the iceberg that tickled the sea

Eko Atlantic What makes you tick? Though I may never substitute you for tea Awe grips my waist when your figure is all I see Why do the might plunge into you Is there any peace buried beneath the surface view Tell me Tell even me I count them as men eaten as sacrificed food Couldn't you have advised them for good? Men far away from wives Toil and freeze while the sea breeze their face wipes You are beautiful Were you told? Forgive for me, for I am careless and lost my manners Will you permit me to sketch your perfect body on global banners.

Teased by illusions  Tickled by threats  Yet this path I must thread  She says nothing  But her eyes speak all I need Perhaps words are vain  Words might be vain Yet in them I found a terrain  Have you ever seen the mountain top?  They are nothing close to the roof tops Impossibility is a thug Growling and staring me in the eye I have fallen in and out of love with life There is a transparent stream running through you All I have ever longed for lies in you   I am careless I have misplaced it a million times  Yet I find it in diverse crystallised balls again.

My body is a terrain You know the edges How do you poke my soul real deep Touch and clutch it like your hands would never let go I have been doused a couple of times Yet this fire kindles with the force of old wood Pray with me Stay with me Will you recognize me in the dark?  How do I stay in the midst of a crowd yet feel lonely till you walk through Could it be when we hold hands Could it be when my heart dances to the rhythm of your heart                                                                       I don't know a lot of things Perhaps you are a river Permit me to plunge in I will dive in it There is a scent of peace when I 'm here Flick your tongue Is this the taste of freedom? Only you sees this You place your hands on my scars You know the scent of my flaws How else d...

Earlier this morning I had woken up with a crave for bread. My love love for bread can be likened to that between a dog and a bone. It explains why when I was a kid every time, bread got missing at home, the culprit was always me irrespective of if it had been proven or not.  Yesterday, I was close to placing a bet on finishing a loaf but I had changed my mind because I could not  bear dwaddling like a duck all the way to work because of the heaviness of a full stomach. To my utter disappointment this morning, my bread had become mouldy. So I actually held 'a minute silence' to practically mourn my bread. That's how much I love it. However you have something more valuable than bread that is gradually growing mould. Do you have a talent, dream or skill that you have kept lying low and praying to have mould grow on it? You indirectly wish that! I should have put put a Readers Discretion before this post because this is not for everyone's consumption. I am tr...

In a country far away I was raised Cursed is growth Will the younger generation break this oath? That was taken on the altars of sacred weaved deceit Hear our fairytales Not of fairies with tails But of lions who eat cubs Puppies being mauled by giant dogs Question it not. Its a norm Else you 'd be a lifeless form Of how the rain suppresses the beach That its spine is glued and does not toss How feet cause seed to be eternally burrowed into the ground Saving grace has refused to be found Sniff! Sniff! Stale is the smell of our air Water no longer quenches thirst Stunted we are Sunlight burns our sight Will this seed ever sprout? Loud silence would not have us discern vision or sound.