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Listen to My Truth


You seem to exist in a different world than I.

–and so I felt that maybe... just maybe if I read a little poetry,

and saw a fine picture every day of my life, laughed a little

more often, I could jump right into your world.

I found out you recited spoken poetry every Friday at night

in a pub just downtown. The people adored you, I noticed.

They had asked about the muse in your poems. You had said

your love for her was like a comet– she gave off the brightest

light when in contact with a warm atmosphere. The love you

said, had shined brighter when you met her.

–and because I wanted to feel loved by you, I settled for loving

you from afar... Because I knew I could never be like the muse in

your poems. Not once had I shone, because if I had, you would

have noticed me.

So maybe I can't jump right into your world after all.

In between hurt and jealousy, I dangled in pain. Silently hoping

that somehow, you would notice me and offer to help me down,

that you would reach out to wipe my tears, but I knew better.

It didn't stop me from loving you though. Amidst all of this,

I loved you more. Having jumped into your world— even knowing

you wouldn't be waiting at the rear to catch me— being this close

satisfied me more.

And I wondered if you would listen if I told you I visited your

favourite gallery every weekend just so I could understand better.

If I told you I watched more comedy clips just so I could laugh

more often and thought it would make me just as hearty as you.

I wanted to be right for you, to fit right in. To be the muse in your

poems, to be the one you told the audience at the pub about instead.

That in between those moments, you had become my truth.

A reason to be happy to be awakened by the first sunrise.

Little did I know...

The audience cheered you on, begging you to stay,

to know more about your muse. Even they loved her.

–just then, at that very moment—you looked my way and smiled...


How is it that every day, I see your smile rising in the wind?

-and when I think you are not there, I look up to find you

dancing with the stars. Never failing to leave within me,

a leaping fire.

I always thought you were a physical manifestation of my

universe— everything I wanted to be put into one body.

You were home to me. My favourite place to go when

my heart sought comfort.

Love they say leads us somewhere, and maybe that was

why I found your poems.

The one you wrote to one who owned your heart— to me.

You had always wanted me to listen to your truth, but right now

I can only hope YOU LISTEN TO MY TRUTH.

I wish to tell you that I have always loved you, and I always will.

That you are the reason I write— you are my poems, and every

piece has, and always will be about you.

Love they say always leads us somewhere, and it has led me

right to you— YOU are my truth.

About The Poet

Cornelia Vincent is from Nigeria. A 21 years old and a final year student of one

of the most prestigious universities in Nigeria, although right now, she is studying

political science, but she plans to pursue another degree in English and literary

studies. She fell in love with poetry in elementary school. She thought Daffodils

by William Words worth is one of the most beautiful things she had ever read,

and wondered how someone had beautifully written about flowers. The imagery

was perfect she thought, for she never failed to imagine every scenery and

mention of nature.

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