ReadMe

ReadMe I'm a young South Sudanese poet writing love & deceit. Poetry ain't just an art to me, it's purpose. A fellowship to Inspire & share my thoughts.

Show some love when here. Just another broken poet trying to console loneliness through poetry.

06/09/2025

Shout out to my newest followers! Excited to have you onboard! Amara Henry, Guor N Mijok, Tamisha Vocan, Ika Mutte, Javier Mayor Nhial, Miran Gledic, Toto Mike Mieth, Milly Mana, Kasare Riek Ruei, Trencch Thy Kîdd, Lokudu Paulinho, Maggie Madeng Gatduel, Thomas Rilpuou Malok, Ihima Tom Joseph, Påtiøu Åtem, Gama Emmanuel Mogga, Ayen Majak, Zyavi Joel, Majok Adutchol, Chuol Gatmai, صابر امانويل, Nerrow Đe Junior, Rajah Richard, Pretty Hannah

(The Piece below is for you my new followers)

Expectations

It’s always a letdown,
the friend who doesn’t call
the lover who leaves,
the dishes and the silence.
But when I trace it back
it’s always me
believing they wouldn’t.
I hand out heights
no one asked to reach
then curse the fall
like it wasn’t my fault.
Disappointment
isn’t what they did,
it’s what I built
on nothing.

05/09/2025

Never knew such euphoria
could be achieved
from dragging
my tongue
across the hood of your skin.

Every flick of my tongue
was like licking
an or**sm
off each receptor that remained.

The texture of your flesh
mapped its own network
in my brain.

The neural correlates of Eden...

Access to the garden
was granted
by extracting
its path from your vein.

You know damn well…I’d set my own heart on fire,to choose you, chasing you through the inferno of my own collapse.You kn...
31/08/2025

You know damn well…
I’d set my own heart on fire,
to choose you,
chasing you through the inferno of my own collapse.

You know damn well…
l'd set my own heart on fire,
to pull you from the dark,
torch my own dreams to light your way to save every piece of you.

You know damn well…
I'd set my own heart on fire, char every shred of me to help you, because loving you is my mission.

And still, I'd set my own heart on fire…
not once, not even twice,
but in every breath, because some love is worth burning in the ruin.

(This Piece Is to be Titled "Tornado" or "Silent War")Our media housesAre broadcasting unsatisfactory storiesAbout the w...
29/08/2025

(This Piece Is to be Titled "Tornado" or "Silent War")

Our media houses
Are broadcasting unsatisfactory stories
About the weather backing up celebrity gossips,
The final mission impossible single movie that's a classic,
Stupid psychologically studied social media habits,
And I guess I've just had it;
Everything I'm forced to see,
Everything imposed on me,
The words and tone they want me to hear,
The buzz, fuss,
It's all a curse.
It's covering blood.

Maybe what I'm saying,
And all that I'm conveying,
Is just,
Tribalism;
But the proliferation of information
Sure feels like a media prison;
We are made to only know what a select few choose to broadcast.

We are unwillingly uninformed.

We don't hear about the war,
That's happening as I recite this poem,
The war that,
Right now,
Rips another man from his home
The war that,
Right now,
Has my dinka, Nuer, and murle,
Brother hating on me
The war that,
Right now,
Has rifles lying uncensored in various homes.

Note: The piece continues for a spoken word.

The Talia Fisher musical lyricsthey don’t come in red-letter editionsor leather bindings.no gold trim.just a glasshalf f...
27/08/2025

The Talia Fisher musical lyrics

they don’t come in red-letter editions
or leather bindings.
no gold trim.
just a glass
half full,
or half gone
depending on the day.
you don’t read them.
you drink them
line by line
until the truth
slurs out
between cracked lips.
god doesn’t answer here
but he listens,
like the old drunks do
quiet
tilting slightly
as if your pain
reminds them of theirs.
these aren’t hymns
they’re confessions
poured neat,
burning the throat
on their way to silence.

That's how a good music should feel.

My confidence was definedby the length of my belt.Measured by the inch,It was the only source of validationI had for mys...
26/08/2025

My confidence was defined
by the length of my belt.
Measured by the inch,
It was the only source of validation
I had for myself.

When all else failed,
I could rely
on pleasing someone else,

Because the amplitude
of her moan
reassured me I was of help.

If not that, then what else?
It was one of the first
emotions that I felt.
It started when I was young,
I was barely able to spell.

Over time, I was denied
a healthy path to excel.

Only to be born
into a matrimony of hell.

What did I do
to become destined
to fail?

Didn't ask to be born,
the only exit is death.

In order to survive,
I had to learn to suppress
what I wanted
to give others what I had left.

Since it was a familiar
experience,
I focused on romance,
which gave me a new purpose
to adapt and accept.

I was infiltrated by pleasure,
It gave attention whenever
I was rejected,
and to commemorate its arrival,
a tower was erected.


She was wearing her blue light dressWhen I saw her at the market.She touched the peaches,& seemed to regret leaving them...
22/08/2025

She was wearing her blue light dress
When I saw her at the market.
She touched the peaches,
& seemed to regret leaving them.

She took some vegetables
& a loaf of chocolate Kampala type bread
in her basket.

I bought the peaches & followed her
To her apartment,
With the fruit as a dowry of introduction.

When we ate at the café,
She wore sandals,
Denim shorts, faded, & a blue shirt
With a flair of see me through right,
Red & yellow & white, from her painting.

Through the loneliness of her days,
She is clothed in the memories
Of hasty affairs,
The goodbyes of war-bound soldiers,
& sailors to an angry sea,
The abandonment of old lovers,
& silent verses of the heart’s sorrow.

These are the tatters that conceal her: sarongs & veils.
The scents of the garden perfume
Her hair & shoulders.

When I took her to Inspire Africa,
She did not have proper attire,
So the night gave her a sequined gown
Made of its own beauty,
Crystal earrings & necklace infused
With moonlight; & she was full of stars.

& when she loved me, she was n**e.


22/08/2025

I sing you
even now,
throat raw from remembering.

Every note a thorn.
Every verse a wound.
Still, I sing.

I was not made
to be quiet
about you..


Address

Nairobi Industrial Area

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