Maybe tomorrow, I will tell you how it feels to carry the sea in my veins
and fight, daily, to not drown.
maybe tomorrow we will discuss over a bottle of beer,
laugh about it like it wasn’t just yesterday I had to
keep the knives to keep me from running my skin with a blade
maybe I will gist about the boy who chased freedom into a bottle of sniper;
I, who had to throw out leftover sniper
because it called me with the promise of freedom
maybe tomorrow my mouth will find the words to paint the thick darkness of my dreams.
maybe my arms will gain the strength to fall, to drop it all and sail away.
my body, floating like a boat at sea.
say a prayer for this lost coffin;
send some flowers to ease the journey.
Olakitan works as a software developer/data analyst by day and a writer at odd hours. Her works have appeared in Agbowó Art, Watershed Review, Prairie Schooner, Memento and others. Sometimes, she tweets here: @kitanbelles.
Serotonin 