Category: Writer

Can’t sleep.

Tick.Tock

Wake up.

Tick.Tock

I miss you.

Tick.Tock

Tick.Tock

……

Hello?

What makes you crazy?

Define crazy.

Is it the semblance of a reality that does not exist

Or an awareness of facts unknown to the rest of the world

Are you really….Crazy?

Or rather, aren’t we all?

If only a little.

We imagine, we dream

And sometimes we wish what isn’t into existence

Because it gives us hope

Is it crazy to want something you could never have?

Or to weave a fantasy that’s much better than your reality?

Who draws the line between sanity and insanity?

Because from where I’m standing….we’re all crazy

Some just got better at hiding

Insecurity is unavoidable.

No matter how hard you try,

There’s always someone out there.

Someone with a shine under which you are diminished.

But you know it’s more about you than it is about them.

So you must learn to love.

To understand, to cease to compare

Because God has given you a body, a heart, a soul worth loving.

He has given you, YOU.

Insecurity is unavoidable

But avoid it you must

The stench of death is overwhelming.

Chaos – a constant guardian

How many more will be claimed?

A son, a daughter, a mother, a father

How much longer till you’ve had your fill?

Till the world is free of your tyranny

She’d waited so long for Mr Right – Mr sweep her off her feet.

The one that would be worth joining body and soul with.

But he never came.

She never for once thought that after so many years of waiting, she would let go so easily.

It had become a part of her, a piece of her that no one had shared – something to be treasured

Not because someone told her she should but because she wanted to.

And then it happened.

She found an uncomplicated situation, where she could give it away with nothing to be expected in return.

No ties, soul or otherwise. Just two bodies, meeting.

Pleasure for pleasure.

He loved another and she was fine with that.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered because it was a union of bodies and nothing more

She’d waited 25 years 7 months and two weeks and in the end, she felt nothing.

No regrets – okay maybe a little.

But mostly surprise at how little it had mattered.

Was she right to wait? Was she wrong to not have waited longer?

It had been 8 years. 8 years since I’d been home and I was finally here.

It almost felt too good to be true. I was giddy.

Even when the plane landed and all the Nigerian passengers stood up (when they’d been specifically instructed not to), I was still excited.

Home. Lagos.

The heat was the first thing I felt, my dri-fit Nigerian jersey couldn’t save me from the sheer intensity of it.

Dark and musty, Murtala Muhammed was nothing like I remembered. But it was home and I was happy to be back.

So much had changed and yet nothing had changed.

I finally linked up with my parents – my dad who I hadn’t seen in over 5 years and my mum who I hadn’t seen in over 3.

I felt the first wave of tears overtake me but I tucked them back in because “Mama ain’t raise no b*tch”.

The walk to the car park was long, dusty and quite claustrophobic but all I could think about was that I was finally home.

I don’t think it’s fair that they get to walk away

That we’re left with the broken scars that won’t heal while they go on living.

Don’t think it’s fair that we pay the price for an action they committed.

Don’t think it’s fair that we’re forced to be strong for the actions of the weak minded.

That I have to hold my sister in my arms and tell her it wasn’t her fault because someone told her it was

Don’t think it’s fair that they live to try another day when we’ll never try again.

Don’t think it’s fair that the body I so cherished has been made to feel like a prison guarding my escape.

That the one I trusted should be the one to betray and break me.