If God had a mane, it’d look like your hair
And would have the same colour
But his would look a shade better
Because divinity gives him the upper hand
If perfection was a person, she’d look like you
And would be the same height and have same shape
But she might have a straighter nose
Because humans have made her look perfect
If I had a calendar for eternity, I’d mark everyday being with you
And I might need a calendar having extra four months
But I wouldn’t mark the first day
Because I was shy of saying hi on that date
And you’re more awesome than I give you credit for
And I know deep down that I never really am worthy of you
But if you ever said you’d leave me for another man
I would become another man so you’d be with me
Dear Damilola, do you remember? Do you remember to not forget? You ever think back to that day? It was a Sunday evening, yet the sun still seemed to be fighting all its adversaries that wanted it down, proudly staying up even though it had lost its flare.
Dami, do you ever imagine what it feels like again to feel that cold September air and the soft wind making your hair rise and fall like that of celebrities in pictures? Nah, you gotta really think back sometimes.
I saw you from afar. We were walking towards each other on that badly tarred road and it really seemed empty that day. Immediately you saw my face too, you started running to meet me. I was too hungry to run tho. 😏 I counted each step because immediately after seeing you, I was going to rush home and eat the pounded yam and vegetable soup my mom already started preparing when I left home. How do I even remember all these?
Dami, my Dami. You know we always said we would get married and our wedding card would be most interesting because our names rhymed. Dami weds Sammy. Oh the nostalgia.
We were both 15; I, two months older and I never stopped making fun of you based off on the fact that you were younger. And you never stopped having witty comebacks. Oh, I loved you Dami. I still do.
All our fun, our escapades, my hunger, and your free-flying-wind-controlled-hair-movement stopped the moment that overspeeding driver hit you from the back just before I could warn you. Just after I screamed your name.
The driver ran away, but the memories he left behind never did. I still haven’t learnt how to drive for the fear of someday hitting someone’s lover.
All my life till that point, you taught me a lot. I hope you’ll teach me how to fly when I get to heaven.
I miss you everyday, Dami. Do you ever think of me?
Due to my Africanism and Nigerianness, I’m removing all poems alluding any sort of harm, hurt or evil to my parents. Yes, I’m serious. It turns out I’m more of a Nigerian than a poet. And a wise man once said “there’s power in the blog”. That wise man was me.
To this effect, next time Satan pushes me to want to write anything bad about my parents, I’ll just refer it to my president, because, let’s face it, no sane Nigerian likes that guy.
Alright, adios amigos. Fino a quando si arriva a sentire da me ancora una volta senza che sia una poesia. Non mi perdere 😁😂
You really are the dumbest. You really are not that smart
Or you’re stupid by choice or your brain is filled with fart
Don’t come all acting like a victim like you really don’t know what went wrong
Like we’re both unaware of what happened, of when we stopped being fun
So now you remember me? You remember we were best friends
You now call me your flower when back then you couldn’t even pre-tend
Tend over me, our friendship. You had more important buddies
And more fun females and you’d put up pictures of girls with hotter bodies
And say you love them, or put up a corny line. Amazing now huh?
Yes, I still am very angry with you. I’m not ready to hide it. You’re getting dished raw.
Don’t come acting up about missing us. That’s a bitch move
Go! Go! Please go away! I’ve promised myself I won’t cry again over some dude
Do you know how many times I slept hugging myself because you weren’t around to comfort me?
Arghh!! Don’t ever ever ever bring my mother up again
What happened to us, you and me?
Weren’t we once best friends?
Didn’t we once say we’ll always make others jealous of us?
Didn’t we once gossip and fight and make up and make out?
Weren’t your other friends once envious of our tightness?
We were once tight like pant *inserts smiling emoji with a sad tear*
Now we walk past ourselves on the street like we’ve never met
And every single time I hold back a sob when I see or think of you
We really had the best times together
Now it seems too late to go back
If you ever see this, tell your mom I said happy birthday
All we’ll ever have left would be the memories
The trees sound like they’re taunting my situation. How the leaves rub on themselves and hold each other whispering soft quiet sweet words to themselves that I only hear as a soft “shhhhh”
Yesterday I cried over nothing. Or at least that’s what everybody said.
So you mean to tell me you never ever just feel so down, so depressed, so angry and pained and hurt and betrayed by nothing to be exact, but your heart goes into rows and rows and bouts of fibrillating slow pounds of pain from heart breaks you don’t exactly feel now, but have felt, or will feel?
Sometimes I cry myself to sleep because my lover will die tomorrow or my dad left my mom 10 years back last week.
It’s hard for me to come out, and express myself to you or myself. I hate me. My belly is filled with the tears I’ve held back. I can literally feel my ribs sob.
*sigh* O my God
Why did you have to shoot him?
Now with whom would I go to school?
You had issues with his brother or father maybe
But did you really have to kill him too?
I can’t cry now because nobody would understand
You shooters could have warned them or even done some robbing
My heart aches and I really feel nothing now but hate
I’m at loss for words. I really just want to sit and do nothing
This is why I don’t make friends often
Because they always end up betraying me or dying
Leaving my heart torn and my fingers twitching from pain
*I can’t complete this line*
You said liked stories. So I opened up my deepest parts to you. Parts even I forgot existed. Parts nobody had ever seen or heard of or appreciated. I opened up my roots and showed you where all this stemed from. Parts that I hated.
You said you liked stories. I really hoped you’d adore mine. It turns out you never really were in love with Prose, you’re just here for Play…
My head pounds more than Sterling. Heart beat rises like fuel price. My lips quaver. My body tenses. But somehow I’m really okay. My thought process fastens so quick I don’t understand myself. No, I’m certain something is wrong. I’m deafened by acute screams from someone I can’t see. Where the fuck is Stephanie. It’s her. It’s her screaming. Why is she crying so painfully? Why can I feel her pain like it’s all being inflicted on me? Oh my God! What’s happening to her? “Stephanie!!!”…
Melissa, what happened?
We weren’t brought up this way
Alcohol was meant for only few times of celebration and some other times of sadness
Look at how clouded your mind is now with your head plugged in a gutter
You’ve been picked from the streets more times than from school
Lisa, what happened?
This is not how we were supposed to turn out
Every night I cry myself to sleep while you snore away on the couch
Our teachers once said we’d turn out super bright minds one day
Now the only brightness about you is the moonlight shining over your drunk body
Is this really it?
Are we really going to just end this way?
Talk to me Lisa, I need answers
You claim being drunk keeps you away from all the pain
But what about me? You really don’t care do you?
I miss the old us.
The part where we had fun and blocked out the pain together
The part where we’d go shopping and get clothes without paying for them and insist we were not stealing
The part where we’d sit out under the sun and dream about when we’ll eventually become rich and build better houses for mummy and daddy
The part that has been stolen away by alcohol
Dear Lisa, please come back
My dad is the reason I work this hard. He’s why I struggle like mad, stretching past my threshold and still be elastic enough to not go plastic. It’s like reverse mentorship. I see him and I remind myself everyday to not be like him. Yet, for every hurdle I cross, every time I beat a trait of his rising up like an erection, I see another; stronger and harder than the former. Children should aim to be like their parents and if possible, better. I’m aiming to be as much as not like them as I can. To never have to have my children not want to be me. Not want to be content, to not see me always present.
I hate my genes because with each try, with every attempt, posterity seems to have a perfect reply. I see my father everyday in the mirror, I convince myself I’m having an eye defect. I’ll see a doctor to prescribe something so I can see clearer. Patriarchy
We sit out at night almost always talking about nothing, just enjoying each others company. I make a joke. She smiles. I decide I like the way the sun looks through her lips. We should make this permanent.
I have a childhood I don’t think about often. No, not because of the lack of events, but for the evilness of them. Melancholy is not my strong point. I had such astounding tragedies as a child, I just attribute most of them to dreams. It feels better that way.
I used to write poems about you. You used to love reading them. Then you stopped. And I did too. How to ever live without you was always a myth to me. Myth busting is my strong hold.
And suddenly the pain didn’t feel as bad. My skin didn’t feel as heavy. My heart’s palpitation was no longer as loud and as fast. I slowly but steadily had reduced breathing rate. You call it dying, but if you feel what I have for the past two months, you’d understand it’s freedom.