On our worst days,
I try not to look at her.
Not of fears, not of shame.
Not of her gorgeousness, if am not mistaken.
Maybe out of love, or out of curiosity about what I feel deep in my shin

But when I do out of courage, out of pain, and view straight into her visage.
I see lies, I feel tied to the Beauty in disguise.

Though am wrong, yet
She seems to be the norm, an addiction with many thorns.

I bleed, with an ashen face, as it plays In the languid of her glow.

In a saner clime,
all seem to bear an aura that smells like faded frankincense.

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Isaacoed Buchi Jamie is a writer and the winner of the 2022 Libretto African Anthology Prize (LAAP) award, whose literary works have appeared on many websites. Twitter: https://twitter.com/Isaacoedjamie