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The Girl With Smiley Tattoo

Posted by Ennosuke Ajibana on Tuesday, April 22, 2025


I was drunk when I met her,
but it wasn’t the whiskey I craved,
it was the taste of something real—
something that wasn’t tangled in lies
or that taste of stale regret
that sat on my tongue for too long.

She didn’t ask for my scars,
didn’t ask for the baggage I dragged like a ball and chain—
she only wanted to know
what it felt like to be loved
by a man who finally learned how to love.

It’s funny how you start thinking you’ll never recover
from a woman who held you
only to let go when someone else touched her first.
And you scream,
you curse,
you drink yourself numb
until the night becomes a black hole
you can’t crawl out of.

But then you wake up one morning
with the sun in your eyes and a new face beside you—
and the silence feels different,
not empty,
but full.
And you realize
it’s not the forgiveness you needed,
but the strength to let yourself be loved again,
to believe in the possibility that maybe—
just maybe—
there’s something worth saving in this world
if you stop looking for it in all the wrong places.

Love doesn’t come clean.
It doesn’t show up in shiny new shoes or perfect skin.
It walks in like an old drunk in a dusty bar
and sits down next to you,
putting a hand on your shoulder
and saying,
“Hey,
I’ve been through worse.”

And maybe that’s all it takes—
the understanding that you’re both
just trying to get through this wreck of a life,
together.


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Champagne Problems

Posted by Ennosuke Ajibana on Monday, March 10, 2025

 

"Champagne Problem" – Bukowski Style

the bottle is empty.
so are you.
so am i.

the train rattles past midnight
and your name is just another bad decision
i won’t be making again.

you sat there,
pretty as a postcard i’d never send,
thinking love was something
i’d fold up and tuck into my back pocket.

you wanted a ring.
i wanted another drink.

so you left,
took your suitcase,
left the keys in the bowl,
and the smell of your perfume
hung around like an unpaid tab.

what was it you called it?
a champagne problem?
nah—
that’s just a rich man’s way of saying
life goes to hell,
but at least the bubbles are still cold.



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Daughter

Posted by Ennosuke Ajibana on Monday, March 10, 2025

 you came out screaming

red-faced, fists like the smallest fury

and I knew from then—

you were a force.


now you're eight,

with your hair tangled from sleep

and your questions that cut sharper than any man’s knife.

I watch you

chasing shadows in the backyard,

barefoot, wild—

like you own the sun.


the world will try to quiet you,

box you in with soft pink ribbons

and rules meant to break your spirit.

but I see how you already fight,

a small warrior,

not even knowing it yet.


you ask me why the moon follows us home

and I don't have the heart to tell you—

it's because you're the only thing worth following.


my life—

whatever I've built or broken—

has been a long road to you.


I won't always have the answers,

won't always be the hero you see now.

but I'll be the shore

you come back to,

when the waves of this world

try to carry you too far out.


you are the best poem

I never wrote,

the only story

that doesn't need fixing.


go on, little light—

burn.


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The Sun Still Rises

Posted by Ennosuke Ajibana on Thursday, January 30, 2025 in , ,

 I woke up the next morning, same as always, though the bed was colder and the coffee tasted stronger. The world had not crumbled, the sun had not burned out, and the cows still stood in the field, chewing their cud with that same slow indifference. If anything had changed, it was only in the details—like how one less coffee cup sat on the table, and how I didn’t have to listen to her sigh about how miserable she was before she left for work.

I suppose I should have felt something deeper, something more poetic. Regret, maybe. Rage, if I were a more excitable man. But all I felt was the air in my lungs and the solid ground beneath my shoes. I reckon she thought she was being clever. She always did.

Maybe she thought I wouldn't survive without her.

Well. The thing about that is—men have survived worse.

I burned the first three eggs, sure. But by the fourth, I had it figured. I washed my own shirts, and wouldn’t you know, they came out just fine. And as for talking to people, I found out real quick that a man doesn’t need to say much if he’s got good work to do and an honest way about him.

She left for a man with a flattery problem. A man who told her she was too good for the life she had, too special for dirt roads and homemade bread. That’s fine. That’s real fine.

Because I’ve got land beneath my feet and work in my hands. I’ve got a sun that rises just the same as it always has, warming my face without asking me if I still love it.

And when the days stretch out long, and the evenings come easy, I sit on my balcony with a cup of coffee. And I smile, just a little, because I know something she don’t.

I will survive. And better yet—I will enjoy it.


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Until You're Not

Posted by Ennosuke Ajibana on Tuesday, December 17, 2024

 It starts like it always does.

She sat across the table, cigarette dangling,
like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.
She smiled like she'd tasted God and spit him out,
and I thought, there’s someone worth knowing.

She had stories.
Oh, they all have stories—
ex-lovers who stole cars,
drunken nights that ended with broken teeth
and fistfights under neon lights.
Her laugh was whiskey in a glass,
low, warm, just dangerous enough.

For weeks, she was everything.
We drank, we talked, we pretended.
About what, I can’t even tell you now.
I was fascinated—
she could hold court in a dive bar
like a queen of dirty saints,
telling stories about broken men
with broken dreams
and broken spines.
She liked her truths ugly,
because they were real.

But eventually, you’ve heard it all.
You’ve seen the same smirk in every photo.
The stories start looping—
the car thief ex-lover becomes just a guy,
the broken teeth are just bad decisions,
and the fistfights just get old.

The magic wears off.
She tells the same joke she told the first night,
and I laugh, but only because it’s easier
than saying,
"you’re interesting, until you’re not."

Her voice becomes static.
Her smoke, suffocating.
And you’re left staring at her
in some late-night bar,
wondering what changed.

But you know.
You always know.

It wasn’t her—
it was you.
It’s always you.

You’re the one who gets bored.
You’re the one who chews through the shine,
spits out the bone,
and moves on.

And there’s nothing worse than knowing
that someone who once lit you on fire
is now just ash
on your sleeve.

You order another drink,
she laughs that same whiskey laugh,
and you realize—
this is how it ends.

Not with a fight.
Not with a word.
But with a silence
that stretches too long,
and a thought you don’t say aloud:
"You're interesting... until you're not anymore."

And you walk out,
because it’s easier
than staying.


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Where did my old self go?

Posted by Ennosuke Ajibana on Wednesday, December 04, 2024

Looking back at the 'me' from 18 or 19 years ago in this blog makes me wonder... what happened to that person?


Did he change? Or did someone else change him?


Back then, I was full of ideas, doing cool things that felt alive and vibrant. Now, it feels like everything has become stale, filled with the mundane. Sure, life wasn't all that grand back then either, but at least it had life.


What happened?


Remember that idea you used to have—going back in time but keeping all the knowledge and skills you have now? Imagine what you could achieve. Instead of wishing to return to your younger self (which is tough, given the experiences you've gained), why not focus on improving what needs improvement and building a better version of yourself?


Being in and out of relationships doesn't mean it's the end of the line. Keep pushing forward. Stand taller and stronger.


You’ve got this.


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Yearning

Posted by Ennosuke Ajibana on Saturday, November 30, 2024 in , ,

You could absolutely break my heart, that's how I know that we're in love. I don't need the symbol of a scar so put down the knife we're not swapping blood. Isn't it enough that we stripped down to our skin?Cold and porcelain like bathers in a painting.

And I told you of your past lives, every man you've ever been. It wasn't flattering but you listened like it mattered. I feel crazy in ways I never say.

Will you still love me if it turns out I'm insane? I know what you'll say but it helps to hear you say it, anyway.

Some October, in the future I'll run out of trash TV and I'll be feeling lonely so I'll walk to karaoke, sing the song you wrote about me, never once checking the words. I hope that no one sings along. I hope that I am not a regular.

Damn, that makes me sad. It doesn't have to be like that

If you rewrite your life, may I still play a part?

In the next one, will you find me?

I'll be the boy with the pink carnation pinned to my lapel who looks like hell and asks for help and if you do, I'll know it's you. I can't imagine you without the same smile in your eyes. There is something about you that I will always recognize and if you don't remember I will try to remind you of the hummingbirds, you know the ones ? (I know the ones)

And the baby scorpion and the winter lunar halo and the walk we took in the redwoods.

I could go on and on and on and I will. Go on and on and on until

It all comes back


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Dum Spiro Spero

Posted by Ennosuke Ajibana on Saturday, November 30, 2024
Are you one of those people who'll mark your calendar with upcoming events. Full of anticipation & excitement, waiting anxiously for the time to come?
That is what's happening in the world right now. 

"While I breathe, I hope"

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Beauty

Posted by Ennosuke Ajibana on Friday, July 01, 2016


Beauty
by Isaac Wimberley

I have spent a large majority of my life looking at paintings
Moments of time and segments of the universe captured on different shapes and sizes of canvas
I become mesmerized by the subtle stroke of the brush
The way the artist so delicately depicts areas and aspects to scale
To the point that my heart feels a sudden rush
As if I could reach my hand out and touch every last detail
As if this was a dream
Caught up in the scene
I find my heart slipping further and further into love

This is a story of my bent
I prefer shadows

This is not a conscious decision that I resolved to make
To be honest, images are just easier for me to take
Easily digested, I could chew all day
And eventually be able to wrap my mind around what the picture is trying to say

So I stare
I stare deeply into the deepest point of the portrait
Thinking that the pain of this world around me will somehow let go
Hoping that somehow this paradigm will satisfy my soul

But I end up empty
I end up thirsty
Longing for a drink
And once again I return, crawling to Your feet
Broken, ashamed, desperate for relief
I have chased creation to its end and wound up on my knees
Begging for forgiveness while hoping You can’t see me
Because I know the truth about me

I know that You have delivered for my every need
But I also know that as soon as You give me manna, I start demanding meat
I know that You have been my Protector through pain and suffering
But I also know how quickly my heart asks where You are as soon as I can’t see the path beneath my feet

So don’t look at me
I can’t stand the sight of me
So how can You, in Your infinite glory, allow me to be in Your presence?

Yet You
With a voice that calms the sea of anxiety in my soul
Tell me to look up
And Your eyes
That see right through me
Tell me that You knew me
And I behold You in all Your beauty
And I’m satisfied
A heart that has constantly tried to find its purpose in everything else in life finally resides at rest

Because Your beauty is much more than infatuation
Your beauty provides my soul with satiation
Beauty that transcends to give Your children definition
For in Your presence I can clearly see that I’m not defined by my sins
My life is not marked by my bents
Because when I look into Your face the world grows strangely dim
And I fall in

You’re all that I see
All that I know
A son returning to his Father and a Father meeting him on the road
Welcoming me home
And before I can utter the words “I’m sorry”
You tell me that You already know

You know me
The real me
The me that I’ve been both chasing and running away from my entire life
So scared that if you were to cut me open with a knife
That disgust and darkness would be the color I would bleed
And that You would be embarrassed that You chose to ransom me

Yet that’s the me You know
That’s the me You love

So I give up
I give in
And I extend my broken, desperate, calloused skin to touch the edge of Your robe
And even just the fringes brings healing to my soul
For what seems like the first time in my life I see You as beautiful
Wholly, completely enough
No longer am I staring at empty promises painted on pointless portraits
But instead I’m peering into pure love

You are better than the things that I’ve been chasing
You are beautiful
You are my joy in the trials that I am facing
You are beautiful
Peace to my storm, stronger than my addiction
Help in my time of need, comfort in my affliction
You are beautiful
And You will forever be

So fix my eyes to consistently see
Cause my mind to constantly think
Give my heart a new song to sing
Fill my lungs so that they always breathe
You
For You are beautiful

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