I really like myself as I am. I applaud when I hear people preach about self love.
My best quote from elementary school was “a leopard can’t change it’s spots”
How I’d tell everyone that cared to listen that change is constant for only those that hate themselves
I imagine how many hate(d) my guts
I think I’m perfect – most of the times
I like my hair laid back, and my nails looking just fine
I don’t apply too much makeup. I like my face showing too
And really if I could, I would certainly be showing boobs
All of these were before my dad found out I was gay
He used to tell me I’m his favorite son and everything he’d prayed – for
These days now, my dad doesn’t like my person
He tells me how stupid I am. He hates my reflection
I’ve tried and tried to tell my mum to help me talk to him
But what’s the use of that if she also hates my being?
I really am beginning to hate myself more than they despise me
My prescription reads ½ml per day, but my eyes keep telling me 12mls. I too am tired. See
I now am a reject, left alone by my family to die and decay
Dear Genie, can you please make me ungay?
Maybe I was in too much of a rush trying to part from the only thing that had given me real joy – lol – since my birth. I was a bit too willing to leave my happiness for memories and good poems. You were the most important event that ever happened to me, after gastrulation. And though this might seem like I’m sounding poetic, or I’m trying to be nice like you claim I always am, or I’m just lying like I do a lot, but I really truly actually miss you, and us.
Remember those days yeah? Do you think about them often? We’d sit talking about a whole lot of nothings. All day, everyday. “Babe don’t leave yet, wait till 7 please?” “But my curfew time is 6” “You stay in the bq. You can always sneak in” A few smiles and a lot more kisses. I liked how you kissed. But I didn’t like the look on your face whenever we did. You looked like a child kept away from breast milk for too long and finally returned back to it. Lol. It was only later I realized that that meant how much you couldn’t get enough of me. Me. That makes me feel too inadequate every time. Man. I miss you.
All she said was “I think I like a guy”. And there, I knew I already knew what he was like. I knew his soul, his heart. And I hadn’t even seen him. Because all her life – all my life – she had sang about the kind of guy she wanted. There, I knew I lost her, forever. Because he was a kind, not too popular, friendly, unbearded, not too tall guy. And this was her perfect guy. I also knew there was no perfect guy in the world. And this wasn’t envy, but I knew that he would one day break her heart. I knew she would cry about him, and I knew she would still go back to him. So I stopped talking to her, because I knew I would get more hurt than she ever would be. I knew. That guy was me.
Today in church, the preacher stimulated old memories to come flooding back. He sang a hymn. “Dear brother, life’s journey’s beginning…” and there I am back at my high school graduation again. 7th of July it is. We’re all dressed in suits – it’s an all boys school. Everybody looking dapper in their own way. We try to block out the pain of probably forever never seeing some of our friends – and foes alike – ever again. We at the time in our minds have reached a peak for ourselves. The event is about to start. They announce that all SSS3 students should enter the hall and calm down with the pictures. Nobody pays mind to them. Little by little we eventually all trickle in. Everybody sitting with their closets friends at the time. The ceremony plays on, dull and without zing. Everyone chatting away. My mother is unduly attached today. “Ma, you gotta chill. I’m not here for you; do you see any other Mother clinging to her child?” I agree, I used to be dumb. Our vice principal administration – my stupid memory fails me of his name now – comes up stage and tells us he’s about to give us a journal. A map and guide on how to survive in the outside world after high school. He opens his hymn and starts singing “Dear brother, life’s journey’s beginning…” The rest of the ceremony is dull in my memory as I was neither a prefect nor among those collecting prizes. I miss the fun and free-heartedness of high school.
Back to my anatomy text.
Someday you’ll find someone
Someone addicted to your roots and wants to live where you come from
A person so intrigued by you, they can’t do without
That’ll love every single bit of you without a doubt.
One day, that person would come along
That’d think you’re Mr Right. In essence you’re never wrong
That’ll love your features. The contour of your nose
And how your eyeball fades its browness into the white of your eyes and how it goes
Time would come when someone would adore your face without makeup
And would worship your face with make up on.
A guy that would kiss your forehead in front of his friends and behind them
And would be there to calm your nerves about the nightmare you just woke up from
One day, when all is gone, there’ll still be someone by your side
Who’ll make you forget to miss every loved one that has ever died.
But that day is not today. Take a chill and not cry about your heartbreak
Chest-out-look-up-smile into believing you’re fine. That’s some aspirin for your heartache.
I want to sincerely say sorry
I apologize for my existence
I’m quite sure my survival rate has troubled quite a number
I live a boring life.
The most exciting things that happen to me are probably academic activities or sleep. I don’t envy the social people. Okay that’s a lie. I everyday want to be fun, boisterous and insane. But no, I have home training.
People tell stories of their events; of hangouts and parties. I don’t have those. The little I have, I thrive in. Sometimes I exaggerate stories to sound fun. I don’t like lying, but what else would I do when everyone else has these exciting experiences and are ever willing to share.
I have a very poor memory, but I gotta be Mike Ross to girls that love boys with photographic minds.
I don’t see clearly on a good day, but I gotta have that Superman vision to seem cool
The most I’ve gone with any girl is a hug, but my roommates don’t know that.
I’ve never travelled out of my state, but “I can draw the map of London city from all the journeys I’ve taken there”
I’m shy as fuck, but if you all like bold people, then guess what I am?
I’ve never been to a night club. I don’t know what strippers look like. My mom still flogs me. I bed-wet. I keep my Afro hairstyle only in school. I’ve never dated anybody. I’m probably gay. I hate my nose. I have tribal marks – I try to convince people it’s cool. I don’t have a dimple. I didn’t have six fingers at birth like I make everybody believe. I don’t have amelogenesis, or genu vagus or brachydactyly. I just felt like if I told you all these, you’d see me as cool too.
I apologize for my existence.
It’s all a lie.
No, not my life. This write up.
I stand staring at my biggest fear
He looks keenly like a predator considering a prey
He seems to know my every part, he knows where to touch to harm me
I try to run, but he matches my every step. There’s no getting away
Every stride I take, his footsteps fit right into mine
I try not to look like it, but I really am terrified
I can feel my heartbeat on my palm. I don’t care to find the medical reason.
My brain is racing, but my legs stay put like they were in a drawn game, and tied.
I don’t like this guy. Can’t he leave me alone?
He looks just like my dad. On a second thought, he resembles me.
Why wouldn’t he leave me alone? We just look alike. We are not the same.
You’re my past. Stay there. I’ve been gifted with the present yet you want to be featured certainly.
I do not want to see you again. Can’t you leave me?
Your hands seem to stimulate my memory and bring up instances I want to forget. My past.
I should have forgotten you, but your face is always on mine.
Dear past, remain just that.
I call her lioness.
Not because she really is a female lion, but because she makes everybody think she’s okay, when really she’s a lying ass.
How she heads up, chest out, step by step walk you into believing she’s the most willed person known to man
Yet every night cry herself to sleeplessness, like all Satan’s wishes are going to plan
She smiles like it’s all okay. She really is suicidal and needs help.
Words are not enough. This really is not a poem. It’s a story of my friend that wants to kill herself.
I really try to be like a weed to her, get her high and be blunt.
Please don’t die. Sweetheart, I need you. Please don’t.