3 Poems by Christtie Jay


I want no boxing lover       my sister loves to hum

      I love you     is     the run(a)way code     for girls on my street     before Nicole’s death     she always said      a declaration precedes a request    I do not have the time for questions     selfish I am      will never say the words     will never let you sing them to me     ghosts   ghosts   ghosts   all of us       ghosts        all of us      running towards nailing our names on road plates         ghosts      selfish aren’t we        praying for freedom          yet refusing to  drown with the sun         a sin    it is to own a pair of eyes yet sit in the dessert          no flute in vision           in my bathroom        I throw punches at the window       trying to nail my name into my mouth             you see       sometimes            it’s love       sometimes       we just want to hear the sounds of doors opening           sometimes    we wish to sleep to another human          fanning our body                  no  crime is it      I used to say to everyone who questioned all my multiple open relationships         what I never said was          how many people have you watched     dance with  your name on their neck          whilst grocery shopping     I pick out cartons of tampon for my visiting man           surprise          first a nut      next it’s hope         first a snake          next a parrot nestling on your head       darling         our love was never meant to birth a baby          glissade cock crows from our nose                to leave our breath          now a paw           thumping our throats on every radio station         not certain I can say goodbye right now            but I know       the only thing bigger than the size of my love for you          is your anger


My pillow is decaying, but my sister
calls me a flower. I don’t want to be. Only

strangers to heartache fear death. It’s one
and the same. One and the same. Nothing pretty

about loneliness, nothing pretty about the cold.
My grandfather talks about death so often he calls

it a dream. He is ninety-two. In the beginning, everyone
prays to be a colour. Never black. Turned our skin to pots

just to scrub death away. When asked about love on first
dates, i say love is the dream. You shouldn’t bother when
Or who, how long, it’ll happen.


I’ve heard rumours about
my bad cooking, but nothing
repulsive goes beyond my
collarbones. I am not a good
human. Unsure i am a living
one either. Frankly, there are
more ghosts now than there
are humans. The bad thing
with love is that people are
always smiling. Almost as if
they can’t tell their rear is out
in the cold. When things go
south, i spill secrets i shouldn’t.
I once called the man i almost
started seeing a fuckboy, and
that hurt me more than it ever will                                                                   
him because i have never been
mad enough to tell a lie.

Christtie Jay writes from Abuja, Nigeria. She’s been published on Glass Poetry, African Writer and others. 

Lake Adedamola is a poet, writer, and editor with Nantygreens, who's worked with several other literary blogs including Brittle Paper. He has, since 2018, served in various capacities on the Lagos International Poetry Festival, LIPFest, team.

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