Writer’s Speak: ‘Running’ by Chiedu Ifeozo

Waking up with a girl they don’t even remember and wishing she’d just simply leave, hopefully on another night they won’t recognize her weave, walk right past, on to the next one who’ll still believe.

Standing there staring at the bottom of a brandy glass, some of my brothers live a life of misplaced class. Always the life of the party; living on a soul that’s empty.

You see somewhere inside, we’re all great pretenders, so we see ourselves through the eyes of others, frame our mindsets to fit perfectly with theirs, afraid that being different would make us outcasts in a system where being in a band of brothers is more important than the weight on the hearts of our wives and mothers.

Glass after glass, it’s called being winners, living the good life, but only the strong will continue when faced with the truth, when the music stops, there’s no way to press replay, you’re simply not the piper with the flute.

Seasons may come and go, nothing stays the same, but still to them it’s all a game. They say they don’t want to be players no more, blame the sisters, damn the haters, it’s only because they don’t have these ladies after them, and so they stay watching in the corners.

Is that really the price of success, losing sight of those without excess? They say if you’ve got it flaunt it; as if simply having it is an excuse to waste it, lose respect for it.

Living a false reality, last night was just a dream.

Waking up with a girl they don’t even remember and wishing she’d just simply leave, hopefully on another night they won’t recognize her weave, walk right past, on to the next one who’ll still believe.

The bigger the ego, the wider the cracks. You don’t see it; it’s the essence of what he lacks.

See how fast I spend this money, it’s the reason you should bow before me.

Living in a room that won’t stop spinning; anything else is just not living.

Searching for happiness in all the wrong places; until the room stops and there are no more faces. The brothers left when the bottles stopped coming. The ladies stopped calling when the money stopped flowing.

Now, afraid of their own shadow, can’t stand their own reflection. Ear drums filled with silver-tongued praises echo with the sound of loneliness.

They stayed running, when all they really needed to do was stand still.  They stayed running, running, running, when all they really needed to do was stand still, gather the will, see beyond the real lies, realize the hidden minds, mindful of the scars that seal highs with deafening lows, know that true strength is not a weakness, witness that man in the mirror slowly become different, different from before but with the same desire to be more. You see my brother, you see. That reflection is you; but only you see further than the mirror on the wall and only you can take the right direction.

Run. Stand tall.

About the author: I am a poet, I am, everyone who has ever had a dream and nurtured it, until it became real. I am, the sum of my pasts but I make sure every moment lasts and every effort counts. In moments of success and through life’s torrents, I remember who I am.

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One comment

  1. Quite deeper than I expected. I love and appreciate the didactic message. Nice one.

cool good eh love2 cute confused notgood numb disgusting fail