When you were a little boy
You once got so mad that it bled
out of your nostrils
Leaving an enraged mess of molten magma
that would burn you as it flowed.
“Oh no!” Mama said, when she saw it
“You better clean that up!”
You looked at the boiling pools of lava
on the floor and cried
You tried to gather it all up,
but your hands were too small
and the pain was too great to contain
Your hot tears formed rock hard mounds
filled with thick greasy matter
You watched them in awe,
Suddenly realising what to do.
You scooped a lump of the mixture
into your hand, dipped it into the angry lava and swallowed it
lump by lump until it disappeared
Now you’re an adult and people whisper
when you walk by
How does he stay so calm?
Doesn’t anything make him mad?
But they don’t know that the anger
is still there leaking, simmering inside you
You don’t even know
Lola Labinjo is a London-based writer, linguist, and educator whose work has appeared in Postcolonial text and Black Lives Anthology. She is a self-confessed recovering plantain addict who’s not really recovering at all! When not writing, she can be found travelling, discovering, and creating. She can be found on Medium at Lola – Medium.