- skipping meals like fleeing sins:
they say fasting draws you closer to God,
but i am a child learning religion through starvation—
not prayer. I chew air sometimes
and count imaginary morsels like rosary beads.
breakfast is a rumour,
dinner is a war i lose with my stomach every night.
i fold my hunger into my laughter,
so no one sees me starving from the inside out.
- making meals from memory:
at the back of ìyá alámàlà’s buka,
i inhale the scent of pepper soup like incense.
my mind sees tossed bones as protein.
my tongue remembers what it cannot touch—
red meat, yellow rice, orange juice.
in my head, i eat. in reality,
my stomach speaks louder than my head.
- sugar-coating shame:
i tell màámi, “i am watching my weight,”
but it’s the cupboard watching me back—
empty.
i wear my faded denim with style,
not to show off, but to hide holes in my skin.
my siblings pretend garri is gourmet,
so poverty feels like play.
- pixelating dreams
in your house, survival is dearth’s doctrine:
finish your meal before you can slice half a sardine.
when hunger persists,
you slip into the café—
where you photoshop yourself into utopian dreams.
i call it a fake life; you call it survival
stitched with pixels.
- negative views of self:
i tell myself,
maybe my throat is too tiny.
maybe i wasn’t born to eat.
maybe hunger is surreal.
my belly is a song of silence.
my body, a poem in famine.
- dreaming of abundance:
i dream of a land where
water is not a luxury,
bread is not borrowed,
and no child ever has to
lick hunger off their skin.
but in this land,
even dreams feel expensive.
Peace Ogunjemilua is a graphic artist and writer whose work explores nature and narratives rooted in cultural depth. He was featured in the Nigerian Student Poetry Prize and is a Sprinng Writing Alumnus. He interns as an architectural writer at Rethinking The Future (RTF). Beyond writing, he enjoys design and music. Find him on Instagram: @peace_banji.
Cover image credit: Eugene Laszczewski