because maybe…

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Because…

 

Maybe the sun will never rise and the moon will loose its flavor.

maybe east turns west and the north travels down south .

 

Maybe your song will loose its melody

and the very things that bring your heart joy will plant bile in your coronaries.

 

Maybe your hard work only stays hard but never works.

maybe your dreams grow fangs and mare your  nights.

Maybe, just maybe everything falls into place but nothing works out.

 

Maybe your life is an epitome of perfect almost.

maybe the break throughs only bend but never fully breaks.

 

maybe your tired of laced fingers, floored knees and prayed questions.

maybe you have traveled through doubts and tasted hope but disappointments stayed long after.

 

maybe your zeal and strength are at war with each other.

or maybe you’ve given up.

maybe you’re here, reading this poem, apathetic

 

 

And maybe ,

just maybe, God has other plans.

Teary.

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00:39 am,

Crouched on a couch, neck bent and back awkwardly begging for more space, he lays waiting for me to get my box braids done. He is tired I know. If the tired lines on his face do not give it away, the consistent sighs do.

 

 

 

 

7.45 pm

 

He has called to let me know he his stuck in traffic, however, he hoped i was okay, he asked how i was taking on the humidity .He knows I don’t fancy the heat, the sun here takes no vacations. After it leaves for the evening it leaves humid residues. He promises to get suya on his way home. however, he may be home late . The traffic tonight is terrible he says.

 

10:52 pm,

he walks in, suya in hand .

twenty minutes later, the smell of parboiled rice hits me. he is making dinner cos my cornrows have only gone halfway. He is tired I know. but he has made dinner and is waiting for me to be done so we can have dinner. The couch is barely comfortable but he waits anyways.

1:34 am,

I am finally done. I wake him up so he can finally have dinner. he says no. he made it for me only. he just stayed up to make sure i was fine . He drags his extra tired self to bed.

 

1:36 am

He drags his extra tire legs, body and spirit to bed.

 

2:08 am,

i clock it.

Clouds form in my eyes.  Here , in this moment, this is love. Unadulterated, its plain, simple and clear.

he has always been consistent. teaching, showing me, patiently and with extra discipline sometimes what love is . what love does.

I drag my tired mind and its many thoughts to bed that night. Standards higher than the day before.

 

Father is the greatest example of what love should be .what it is, the lengths it will go, the sacrifices it gives.

drifting between sleepy states , a say a hearty pray with all the gratitude I can muster.

 

Keep him long enough dear lord.

keep him long enough so I can make him proud.

bless him good God.

thank you good God.

 

 

 

Uwem , a bitch.

Trauma will change your perspective, nobody tells you.

Pain will humble you. you can only learn this on your own.

there´s so much to say, but i need the words to hit right. They don´t.

 

Life is running at a zillion miles Per minute,I only ever learned paced walking.

I am holding my pieces with feigned happiness and fragile hope.

fake and Fragile things never last.

send help.

 

all is good still.

we moveee.

 

as a lucky one.

RANDOMS

 

2:27am,

no ones hero.

it is a blessing and a curse to feel so deeply.

To hop just as high when an ally jollies and crunch deep when a beloved hurts.

 

who is gonna save them?

everyone is hurting,

children are dying, hearts are breaking.

everyone is hurting,

life is hard, the chase is draining.

 

And there are lucky ones.

its unfair to have life better.

not easy, but not as many turmoils.

 

As a lucky one,

I know you’re hurting,

I want to comfort, but,my words lack depth.

The spirit is too willing, the arms lack the range.

 

As a lucky one,

I want to save all this hurt, but miracles are left for gods.

I pray your pain away , but i think our gods are at war.

I wished and wished, but beggars have my horses.

I have failed my duties.

 

Hunger grows steady.

death takes the good ones.

poverty loots the rest.

Friends find no peace.

 

 

world is on fire.

everywhere hurts.

everyone is hurting.

everything hurts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But I dont.

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you say you’re tired, trust me I’m tired too.

I understand your pain but I don’t.

 

I have no rights, there’s nothing I can say.

but if i did, I’ll call you selfish.

if I had a say, It’ll be damn you, in the most loving way.

You picked your death day, nailed my coffins too.

 

If I were less smart, i’d call you coward,

you’d pick giving up when there’s all this fight left in you.

I want to fight you but i don’t.

i’ll beg but to what end?

how can one, with all this love , think of ways to throw it all away?

 

when hell receives you, it will build a loop for my mother too.

I must prepare for the wreckage.

I have to be strong so she can build her grave with the pieces you’ll leave.

I wonder, how long will it take the devil to return her peace?

is there a life time long enough for that?

i’m not naive enough to ask for her joy.

 

I understand your pain, but really I don’t.

I have never met such brilliance ready to got to waste.

still, I don’t have a say.

love does not cure brokenness.

I would mourn you, but there is no time.I must gather my strength for my mothers wreckage.

 

 

Cringe.

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Seconds after I spill a quarter of my Heart’s content, Regret hits me. I talk too darn much. still,I say very little. My friends don’t know me but they do know me.

I have realized that bottling pressure is only temporary stoppage. Eventually, lids get opened and there’s an explosion, you cant control explosions. you cant control the after effects either.  So there I sat, Wine glass in hand reeling from the minutes I just spent spewing parts of my last year I’d rather forget.

I remember telling the story, I remember begging my mouth to stop. I also remember knowing I had gone too far to give half baked tales. so,I settled for giving this story in the version that would best minimize my impending cringe. There was no need to be so vulnerable. But you know, gist leads to more gist.

when you feel the urge to open up to anyone. DO NOT do it. drink water, add coconut oil even.

 

Much like my chatter box genes, I struggle with precision. Like how I started this piece attempting to write about the cringe that comes after openness.  but here we are.  Still, I would like to know. What is that guilt? why do I want to crawl into a deep dark hole after I share the most minute parts of my life and  its very small story. I wonder sometimes, is it maybe cos I’m Nigerian? Everybody knows; keep your secrets to yourself. your mothers sang it you in their pregnant bellies when they hid you from Neighbors, sisters, friends,you name it. Maybe there’s some conduct code i keep breaking,  and maybe In other ways I feel like I have failed home training, its teachings.

 

what ever the case, I need a duck tape. the cringe is not worth such explosions.

 

 

My Darling.

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There’s not much that makes me sad,

i’m lucky like that.

 

There’s really nothing that breaks me,

i bricked my walls that way.

 

Believe me, I have never felt the break of a heart,

or the anguish of loss.

the universe spares me, maybe.

 

Still, today,

she said ‘i want to be a medical doctor like you

my heart mosaic-ed and saved me no anguish.

my lungs squeezed all my air into a painful chuckle.

the rain my eyes tried to hold broke loose ,

a dried ‘you will be soon‘ escapes my throat.

a lie I didn’t have to tell.

 

I don’t like liars.

still,

hope will make you alternate facts .

 

Soon is a term we have all gotten used to.

‘one day’ has galloped into years,

miracle seconds are minute-ing,

heaven is running out of wonders.

 

There’s not much of God I don’t believe,

but Lord, I’m running out of faith.

help my Thomas,

Lately he can not be suppressed.

some say we are sinners.

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the sin of it all.

for the love of boys and girls and all men alike.

for the love of toys and plays in their fore’s.

 

the sin of it all.

for the love of miles and clubs in their highs.

for twos, threes, and numbers in their somes.

 

the sin of it all,

for  brothers, sisters and burning incest…

for Cersie and  her descendants.

 

the sin of it all,

for domination and all its trix.

get on your fours, take the masters whippings.

 

the sin of it all.

of trains and senses in the 8s

the otter sin of it all.

 

pick your poison.

 

 

atbm.

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as the moon reads bedtime stories to the sun,

i feel fear drumming through my bones.

I lace my hands around my face waiting for impact.

I have learnt that if you lay really still,he will be done quick enough to let you sleep.

You may even get in a good cry if you’re that type.

 

The day my mother finds out,

I wonder which i would loose first

my life or our house.

 

It has been two months since my father died.

I still lace my hands around my face sometimes,as if bracing for impact.

 

they say ‘i look happy’

I smile back because i do not know.

when a storms ends is it happiness or relive?

 

 

 

 

 

Leggo.

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I will have you know I have good and bad days.

like today.

 

I’ll have you know there are things I never say out loud.

like the times hurt broke me.

 

I must tell you there are times I have been failed.

like now, these thoughts, the words betray me.

 

Understand that this is no block

just  leggo cause the thoughts won’t build.

this voice has lost its ink.

 

where do you go when poetry fails you ?