When the pale guest knocks, let the bolt slide back;
tell him I have been waiting in the shadows.
If he asks what I sought in the light,
tell him I only ever wanted less.
Less of the static, the storm inside the skull,
less of the pretense that every wound
carries the weight of a lesson.
I am tired of justifying a seat at a table
in a room I never asked to enter.
And if he wonders why the fire is low,
tell him that life took its fill,
it reached inside and scooped the marrow,
wringing me like linen until the well ran dry.
The ledger is clear; the vessel is empty.
Tell him I am ready to be still.
Olusegun Ajayi
January 24, 2026 at 1:29 am
“Tell him I am ready to be still.” Such level of tranquility, I love it.
Destar Freeman
January 26, 2026 at 11:43 am
“I am tired of justifying a seat at a table
in a room I never asked to enter.”
Profound! 👏👏👏
Books
January 29, 2026 at 10:32 pm
This is beautiful
Anonymous Reader
June 22, 2026 at 7:22 pm
What a beautiful piece. I love it