Ajani

About the Author

Ajani Levere is a 4th-year computer science major at Drexel University, living in Philadelphia, PA. In the fall of 2025, he studied abroad at Akita International University in Japan, where he took Creative Writing under Joel Friederich’s instruction. Ajani is passionate about family and friends, entertainment, and breaking out from your own bubble. Ajani finds writing to be an excellent medium to explore all of these concepts either directly or indirectly.

Through writing this semester, Ajani has been able to access so much joy and creativity from the writing process, relishing in the satisfaction of completely fleshing out an idea from its inception to its completion. AIU, and Akita at large, has been a great place to foster this creativity, immersing Ajani in a serene landscape that provides abundant opportunity for reflection and inspiration.

Little Offering

“I don’t know if we’re getting out of this, Carol,” Dan said with his foot glued to the gas pedal, eyeing the siren of a tornado in the rearview mirror. The truck jittered constantly from the jagged pebbles and bits underneath them, sat firmly on the only road for miles. They were caught in an expanse; a slither of machinery in a plane of grass that stretched beyond the eye’s field of view.

“Come on, Dan, don’t you make me tell you the story of Oklahoma, ‘06…” Carol began. “...And you, 6 months pregnant–” Dan added begrudgingly. “And me, 6 months pregnant! Chasing after storms way bigger than this.” Carol added. “And look, there, right up ahead!” There was a mid-sized shack about half a mile ahead of them. Carol urges, “We can’t stop there, of course, but maybe we can capture it getting swept up by the tornado. Dale, move that camera around!” Dale, the cameraman, follows suit.

Dan, however, is no longer soothed by the idea of getting a clear image of the tornado’s path of destruction. He feels something slowing the car down, on the tire perhaps, but whatever it is, it’s making the car slowly come to a halt. Dan enters the landscape from the now tempered comfort of his car, and bends down, stroking a piece of debris caught in the tire’s spokes.

“Dan, are you crazy?! You can’t stop like that in the middle of the road, you’re going to get us all killed!” Carol yells. The strength of her voice is lost in the wind’s embrace. It just barely reaches Dan’s ear.

Dan yells to counter the wind’s smother. “WELL IF WE DON’T GET THIS OUT THEN –”

Moments ago, they were at my feet in an upset. The couple, man and woman, and the cameraman. The woman held on deeply to the cameraman as she watched her husband dedicate himself to me, and only me.

Now, I see no one. But, the remains of you all are strewn about my body, and only flashes of you appear within my view. When I look down, it is not the barren, miniscule shack that instantly crumbles in my trek that I care for, but the sweet glimpses of your torso flailing carelessly in my embrace that moves me.

You are a long way from where you came. The grass no longer grounds you, I do. And now, you get to see the beauty, too! Look ahead, the grasslands are calmly laid below the horizon, and each blade is swaying ever so slightly, as if it is welcoming our arrival.

Thank you for loving me. Thank you for coming home.

Things... I Imagined!

09/24

It’s a little embarrassing, it feels so embarrassing

The scan I do,

With my eyes, with my head

Across the room.

Looking for my people, ignoring everything else

It’s a public declaration of my being/feeling out of place

Not many people notice, wrapped up in their meals, in their own affairs

But I see it. The absence of a seat marked for me,

But I’ll find it.

The place where I belong

09/25

Each conversation seemed to flow into the next

The constant labor of interaction

The heightened awareness I maintained,

Making sure to maintain the right eye contact,

Picking up my spoon at the right time,

My breath baited, waiting for the right opportunity to speak

I think I was a little tired of it.

I need some time to myself

09/26

Roots sneakily swelling from the ground

Covered in moss, a discreet attempt to mask its presence

Maybe it’s been forcefully enshrouded instead,

A malleable parasite, colonizing terrain wherever it thought appropriate.

I walked into D105, an empty classroom

I could feel the silence, the atmosphere, the structure of the air when I wasn’t there -

All of it bent to accommodate my presence

It was shocking to see how my being

Interrupted it, the natural flow of the room

Walking out and into the room isn’t as jarring, though

The after effects of my disruption are still present.

It’s a kind host

Timbaland Trousers

The little brown spot on your upper knee. I would only see it when it was slathered in shea butter, but I remember it still, like a rhombus with no right angles or a scaled-up Madagascar. You always covered it and I made sure it was protected too. No one would ever have to see it if you didn’t want them too. I got you, that way.

From the top of those hips to the center of your ankle - that was my domain. When the fit was right, I especially remember your hands embracing your backside, rubbing them all on me; that was your domain. But that thought now, it sickens me a bit. I don’t want to see your hands.

When you first picked me up at the flea market, I felt your eagerness surge into me. It was so refreshing. You had a plan for me, and I had been waiting for someone to give me that direction. Before you, I was sitting in a bin in the back corner of a basement. I didn’t have the promise of a new day, just the same bleak moment.

Then, it was decided that the old back corner was too good for me. I was to be put up for sale. But on that day, far in the distance, I saw you. And you came to me, you came with new love.

Things were… I was in bliss. I loved fitting snug on you, being complimented on you, wrapping myself around you, seeing you smile when I was on you. I followed you everywhere, and I didn’t want to go anywhere else.

But you never told me, if I stopped fitting on you. Maybe you got really into skirts, I don’t-, I don’t know. I say that because, for so long, I didn’t see you. You had kept me in the closet, sure, but that’s where everyone else lived too. Looking back, I don’t think you meant to do this, but you had specifically faced me away from the closet. I literally couldn’t see you if I tried! So maybe you did, mean it, because after 4 months, I couldn’t come up with any other explanation.

Could I be discarded so easily? Left again in the dark with no attention, no care. It was like I was in the basement again but worse! Because you had assured me that we had and that we protected each other. But there I was, unprotected, for 4 months.

Maybe I could be discarded, so easily. For a long time I believed that. But I look into my son’s eyes and I know that can’t be true. He has taught me a love for myself I thought I could never find after you. A secure love, unmoved by time or condition.

Today marks 3 years since the last time I saw you.

And Guatemala is nice this time of year. It’s a bit difficult trying to raise a child here, but I manage, I do. It’s easier having my family. We’re not the closest but they love me, and I them… I suppose. I realize I never told you, but it's where I was made, so it seemed like the right place to make home.

My resentment isn’t as strong as it was 2 years and 8 months ago when I drafted this letter in my mind. So, now, I want to thank you for all of this, really, for leaving me behind, for removing me from your orbit.

Extended Metaphor (Original)

My eyelids are a venus flytrap and they’ve just found their prey

They do so every night

The eyelids collapse into one another, but not without resistance

I feel them,

What lies beneath the lids,

Fighting their enclosure.

Each erratic movement,

Left,

Down,

Left,

Right,

Is a futile attempt to claw their way out.

The flesh of the eyelid becomes taut in each attempt,

Stretched and stretched but never worn thin.

But each movement is less intense than the last,

They understand that it’s time.

They must acquiesce to the fate that awaits them,

They must rest.

音楽と意味

Look for it.

A crimson decade caresses

the once sparse, rimy sod

It holds

A quiet indignation.

It’s coming down now.

Billows of smoke create heat

Where it ought not to be, subduing flora

Better left unseen.

Embers overbearing,

A most vile perfume,

Melting a typically unyielding

Barrier of frost.

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