To say to waste is to say throw away
Get rid of is a way to say it
Vanish is what I wish it is to say it
To become like vapour
Like fading grass
Here today and not tomorrow — a tricky thing
Like language
To fall off when you want and to stay when you want
To tell me I suck at this, come apart at the seams
And not be afraid to become waste
To be gotten rid of is a constant nightmare
In horror movies, all the black ones go first
You wonder how we are still found in the darkness
I stayed and stayed till we were inseparable
But the light
It sees the vapour
It grows the grass green.
PS. A draft really about my current state of mind. Not thinking I’m writing is driving me crazy. So, here’s something for myself and hopefully something you will find some kind of solace in, if any.
Afua Awo Twumwa 