By Emoefeoghene Akpofure Imoyin-Omene
Love keeps no record of wrong, yet I can’t help but remember everything.
I remember the battle scars you called beauty marks
When the lies - you called protection - brought bruises darker than all my stormy nights
When your iron fist bastardized my reflection.
The truth of our Shakespearian tragedy
But there is no final act
No catharsis or reprieve
The only resolution is the ephemeral hope of tomorrow
Love keeps no record of wrong
When your sweet kisses started to sting
When you told me I was the burden
When you threatened to kick me out, knowing I had nowhere to go.
You wield your authority like a bleached whip.
'Love keeps no record of wrong,'
You would chant after your ritual of throwing me to the back of our communion room.
I remember that day well. A sinful Sunday.
'Love keeps no record of wrong,' you would croon as you seduced the phone out of my hand
'It will be better one day.'
I believed you, knowing that no one believed me, and I prayed one day I could forget
'Love keeps no record of wrong,' I whispered, conditioning myself to your divine dominion
Creeping up behind me was you, thief of my joy, reprobate and miracle, torturer and my only remedy
You kissed your gritty masterpieces all over my body, marvelling at your magnificent creations
You grabbed me lovingly, tugged at the dissonant remains of my dignity
And made us bow to you.
I transcended the physical by your third lashing
Descended to the pits of hell by the fourth slam on the pews
And by the fifth slashing, I screeched and promised you
I would always remember that LOVE KEEPS NO RECORD OF WRONG
Love keeps no record of wrong, you swooned the next day
Decadent and Dapper
Delicate and Deceitful
Delicious and Demonic
'You have never looked so amazing,'
You exalted me mercilessly while nursing my bruises with spiteful ice
You took pride in me
You and your perfect Doll
I fell for you all over again and vowed to discard Sunday
You cried and baptized me in your unconditional oceans of despair
Soaking in your trauma and floating on your memories
I remember washing our hair
I remind you of your father and your mother and you forced me to
Massage their gritty masterpieces invading the small of your back, and as
I packed my bag and mustered the strength to find peace of mind
You told me everything you could remember.
About Emoefeoghene Akpofure Imoyin-Omene:
Imoyin-Omene is a 19-year-old British-Nigerian writer and poet formally known as Emoefeoghene Akpofure Imoyin-Omene, but you can call him Efe, or Mr. Omene if you’re feeling spicy. Efe has had an affinity with the artistry of writing from an early age. It gave him the chance to create alternative worlds when his sometimes felt cold and confusing. Writing became his space to unleash emotions too explosive to articulate. This love intensified during the pandemic. While most were reeling, Efe was healing by writing his debut novel, Ese: The Misadventures of Moving Forward, a book he affectionately labels ‘YA Romance with socially conscious and comedic twists’. The novel beautifully chronicles the trials, tribulations and euphoria of the world-building adolescent stage through the eyes of an unconventional protagonist and their diverse family.
Efe worked with The National Centre for Writing in their Lit From The Inside programme at 17 and published a zine with them. He also worked on his school’s English blog, podcast and Instagram, starting the 1st Black Student Forum in Wymondham College. Alongside this, his editing, mentoring and imagination mean that the sky is too limiting for this bright star. Get ready, world, because Efe is.