My eyes were heavy with deferral,
my body fluent in delay.
I fell asleep on borrowed comfort—
A couch that never asked
Who I was becoming.
“Go to the room,” she said
As if the truth lived
Behind a door
I had been avoiding.
My mother called me, not loudly,
Just enough
For conscience
To take a shape.
Inside, my friends were busy—
Scrubbing the floor of evidence,
Smiling as they erased the remains
Of nights that promised pleasure
But delivered amnesia.
Wrappers everywhere—
Not desire,
But protection without direction.
Risk cushioned carefully
To avoid consequence.
How do you walk into the future
Barefoot, pretending the ground is clean?
Someone looked at my feet:
“You need shoes.”
About the Contributor
Also known as Redeem Alms, Gustave Micomyiza is a poet who explores existential psychology and self-awareness through symbolic imagery. His work reflects the necessity of confronting reality before progress can occur.
