Semilore Kilaso
I’m Unable to Love the Boy in My DM │ Semilore Kilaso │ Poetry
after Praise Osawaru every night, my phone transforms into a hospitalfront desk, hosting unsolicited calls andverses bleeding affection and its iteration.a labelled acquaintance texts me“hi baby.how was your day?have you had dinner dear”for reasons only he knows.i become an air-traffic controller, converting kilobytesof binary numbers to stickers, voice-notes and emojisthat do not appease me.i wish…