Jesse Ojuka

Deluded ballerina spinning should have pursued a bag of shillings.
But tonight, they watch the show and clap in the front row,
throwing notes of gratitude under the lights.
Then journey home to start fights with dreams that live past nights.
Rather be buried as a trier than an eternal liar,
or umpire that stood on the sidelines and conspired
to blow whistles when reminded he’s afraid,
not lazy or tired.
Twenty-five and broke surpassed imagination,
hypnotising hopes I’d grab notes without the dedication.
Parttime jobs eject my resume from the pile,
can’t help but smile,
trials overcome compile.
Belligerent success imminent despite the while,
the vehement dials from doubt I refuse to file.
Untrue to say I don’t relate to fear, now more than ever,
I see from the eyes they wear.
The ones that saw Goliath and didn’t sling the shot.
The ones that drop when it gets too hot.
I too am tired.
Despite that fact, I can’t stop