Dear Diary,

 

Dear diary,
I'm aware I’ve spent quite some time away.
I was not surprised to see how dusty you had become.
It’s all my fault, I agree!
 
It’s not because I didn’t want to write poetry.
I had simply been caught up in a sort of spiraling web of insanity.
Unfortunately, exposing a much more jaded side of me,
coercively stripping me of all profundity.
 
Dear diary,
My speedometer reads 120 in a 100 zone.
What then is a zebra crossing when life propels you to disregard all the rules you have known?
Where the many fears of inadequacies flood your mind—your home!
If sleeplessness is a kryptonite, my sunken eyes denote the insomnia I have been facing alone.
Other Boeings seem to plane enriched landscapes and terrains.
While I remain looped, hovering these deserted savanna plains
Sigh!
 
Dear diary,
Not that I want to profess a lack or need.
I’m just at a crossroad with several synonymous markings.
Wondering what particular direction leads.
 
Many are keen-eyeing me, hoping I stumble and fall.
Like Tetteh Quarshie, the discussion is not primarily skewed towards the texture of the soil.
Rather, on whose seeds may envelope them all