What Are We?

All my life – all our lives, we always were in touch. We always kept contact. But did we ever?
You always wanted a good girl who would be bad with you. A freak who was down for you.
I always wanted to be that girl for you.
But you never noticed.
And the countless times I told you to pay attention, you figured I meant on something other than me.
I had a dream we were soul mates in our past life.
I want that back.
I reminisce of a past I wish to experience in the future.
Do you even remember my name?
Sometimes I’m so scared of looking you in the eyes, ‘cos I’m afraid of what you’ll see – a weird girl who’s overly attached to you.
Is that what you think of me?
Who do you think we are?


I’ve watched you for two years now. You have no idea how hard it has been for me to hold back.
Stay back and watch from afar. To keep imagining what you smelled like.
I had ideas. You probably smelled like freshly baked cake with almost soured kunu topping.
I’m obsessed with how you walk. Your swagger turns me on like a switch, when you switch steps.
No, it’s not love. It’s not love I have for you. My feelings can really not be described with just words.
What I feel for you is an emotion bent out of shape confined to repetitive singularity.
Every moment, I do one thing: stare.
I love to just see you. See you there being unaware of being spied on.
I stretched my watch tonight longer than I should. There’s been a glitch.
Did you see me from the outside of your eyes through your mirror or is it just my paranoia?
I consider the events and reason my not well thought out plan.
It’s better I stay hidden. It’s better I’m sure. I hate guesses. I hate suspense.
My lips twitch and my tongue twirls.
I decide tonight is the time I finally smell your skin and taste your flesh.
You turn around.
I come out from behind the curtains.
You start to want to scream.
I cut it off.
Just before your eyes close for the last time, I notice an anomaly.
You have a bit of dark blue in your pale brown eyes.
You weren’t that perfect afterall.

Alter Ego

He smirks at me, makes a hand sign telling me to head south
I do what he says always, even if I don’t want to. He has some sort of control
Some form of power I can’t resit. I hate him, but can’t desist
Desist from wanting him. And though I want to make me happy, pleasing him is my goal
“punch her in the face” “headbutt him in the chest” “fuck his eye up”
Weird commands I tell you. He’s had no soul for ages.
He, like black smoke, twirls in my white mind and does all the evil he wants
No, he’s not Satan. He’s just my Rage.


It looks different everyday. Well, not exactly. Better maybe
Waking up is the one thing I always look up to, because I wake up looking at my baby
Your face folded in it’s sleep-like paleness, I try to imagine your dreams
But you already know mine: to grow old with you.
One day, baby we’ll get old, and tell stories about love
And laugh and our children will have their children over with us
And we’ll tell them about med school and the stress
And I’ll give you a kiss, and we’ll hold hands down the stairs
And our grandkids will marvel at our love, and tweet about us
One day, my baby, we’ll be old. Just give me your trust
And though we don’t talk yet, though all these are just in my head
But I know we’ll one day fall in love and grow old
I see you walk the corridor of my class everyday and I smile at your ignorance
I’ll tell you how long it took me to say the first hi, how long it took to plan
So walk on, stroll the walkway and hold hands with that guy
No, I never get jealous because he’ll be jealous when we together on the same bed die
One day, my baby, we will grow. We’ll get old.


You put a ring on it last summer. We said silly romantic things like nothing would ever come between us,
-and that we’ll get married next summer.
But that I got a job bigger than you was not my fault.
That you began to see yourself lower than a buried man was not my intent.
I became bigger than everything you ever imagined, so I dropped my imaginations. Marvin,
-That compromise is spelt with a promise is not a mistake. Maybe we weren’t meant to happen.

The Lady You Shot

Today seemed normal when I woke up. The sun was already up by 7, a bit too hot for the morning, but asides that, everything looked perfect.
I rushed out of bed as tradition and ran through my morning rituals rushing to get to work.
I left my wrist watch of course, my rush keeps doing that to me.
And while I was on that bus, wishing it could move faster but knowing it wouldn’t.
While my mind was racing through the day’s activity with my head still stuck in one place with no net displacement, –
You were there, taking notes. You were there, on my watch.
I still don’t get why you didn’t do it at home. It would have been neat. But you have your reasons I guess.
I could feel it. I could perceive it. I didn’t feel anything strange and that was strange.
My workplace was already roudy by 8:15. Normal.
The security guards said hello before opening the door. Normal.
My office was a mess from yesterday. I left it as it was. Normal.
I had an urge to pee at 9:26. The toilet was fearfully spotless. Normal.
So why did you decide to do it on a normal day?
Why did you not wait for me to finish pouring out useless fluid probably acquired from a cheap drink I took last night, before splitting the front of my forehead with a tiny bullet.
Couldn’t you let me be relieved first?


6000 years back, my dad threw me out of his – my, our – home for something so –
So trivial, minute, small, infinitesimal and eternally forgivable.
Such great hypocrisy from a person that claims to be perfect in forgiveness.
I’ve still been unable to fathom how a being that claims to be transcendent, descend so low –
So low as to send his son to an environment so disgusting, so downgrading.
Yes, my dad, God, banished me forever just because I wanted my birthright.
And I was unrightfully sent to you humans; sheep in wolf’s clothing.
You lot are as great hypocrites as the man you worship.
You call me the father of lies, yet if you don’t watch your step –
If you don’t put off your TV and watch your step you might hit –
Hit a stone and then we’ll see who lies.
6000 years, you all have claimed to be your brothers’ keepers and pray for sinners.
But dear man, when has any one of you thought of a simple human act –
A simple humane act as to pray for the one who needs the prayer most. The first sinner, me.


Yaaaas! *twerks calcaneus* My nigga Tolu nominated me for the smalleewrites award because he’s awesome like that. Tolu, your next bottle of beer is on me. Oh crap, you don’t drink beer 😂😝

This is the first time I’m ever being nominated for anything in my life *wipes tear*. This means so much to me. I feel happy, I feel blessed, I feel fulfilled. I never hexperredit. The borofus gon’…oh, okay... Tolu, is an awesome writer and he doesn’t realize it, I guess? We follow each other on twitter too, so…yeah basically.

I started blogging like 6 months back, and it’s been the most awesome time here. I opened a blog basically from pressure of friends who thought I was dumb and needed to start writing to look smart. Okay not that exactly, but along that line 😂😂. I actually started writing four years back, and I wanted to open a blog two years ago, but had no idea on what to do to open one, so I did what anybody would do, I didn’t. I finally got smart enough to google it and bam, here we are. Has been an amazing journey so far. Traffic has been good. I usually hate crowded traffic, but not on my blog.

Yes, now the rules of this award are:

  • Write a post to show the award
  • Acknowledge the blogger who got you nominated!
  • Give a brief story about how you started blogging
  • Give 10 random facts about yourself
  • Give 5 pieces of advice to new bloggers
  • Nominate 15 deserving bloggers.

RULE 1: Done

RULE 2: Done

RULE 3: Done 


  1. I’m actually not a sad person. This was put here first because my blog is full of sad poems. Don’t worry, I don’t really want to die. Or not now anyways.
  2.  I love my mom more than I realise. I constantly have to remind myself how much I adore her. She’s the strongest woman I know. No, she can’t beat me up. She’s strong in the mind. Can’t have my mom looking like Brock Lesnar. That would mean I have two fathers.
  3. I don’t have a favourite colour or song or attire or food(even though I lowkey believe fried yam would be served in heaven)
  4. It’s raining outside my house right now. Yes. Random fact.
  5. I love my country so much, but not enough to not want to go abroad and never ever come back. I can love from outside, can’t I? After all, distance makes the heart grow fonder. 
  6. I love holding my phone. Whether I’m using it or not. I suddenly feel empty when someone borrows my phone for a while.
  7. I don’t think I’m a good poet. Really. I just have good friends who know how to lie
  8. Why don’t I have Osama Bin Laden type of beard yet? I’m tired of having an empty face looking like a smooth criminal and all.
  9. I love great photography. No, I’m not a photographer. No, I don’t even take great pictures on my phone. I just love great photography.
  10. I think the world would end soon. Oh wait, someone said that 2000 years back. My bad. No shade.

    RULE 5: Why am I doing this one? I need the advice too 😓

    1. Never receive advice from anybody. That’s the best advice. Do you. 
    2. Don’t be afraid to use your blog. It’s yours. Do what you want. Post a Bible passage today and a video of Miley Cyrus twerking tomorrow. No, don’t do that exactly, or whatever. 
    3. Tell everybody  you know about your blog…everyday! Keep telling them till they hate you for it. After all, nobody really needs friends. I already told you not to follow advices, so whatever. Lol
    4. Sometimes, to get materials necessary for inspiration to write, you need to go out and experience. Let the wind hit your face and the petrichor intoxicate you. Enjoy watching couples fight and admire the way the sunlight hits the shrubs by the roadside. Do not, I repeat, do not enjoy watching couples fight. It’s not good. 
    5. Improve your writing. Look for every means necessary and every way possible to get better. Better pieces equals more traffic which equals more money. Hehehe

    RULE 6: Fifteen? Really? 

    Sophomore Year

    I saw your reflection in a pool of toilet vomit water. I caught myself putting on your clothes yesterday. Your mother keeps calling me her child. Your family insist you are me. Everybody thinks I’m going crazy saying we’re not the same. You know the truth. I know the truth. I killed you when I couldn’t bear to be taunted anymore, to be bullied and laughed at, and made fun of, and used as a tool for jest. When I finally lost hope in humanity. It wasn’t intentional. I just wanted to scare you off. My blade wasn’t even that sharp, yet somehow it pierced into your soul. Every single time I play video games, I remember you. You hated those. Why can everybody else not see through, see the truth. We’re different. You had breasts, tiny ones you hated and hated more every time the girls in your class laughed together and you were convinced they were mocking you. You had long brown hair and deep brown eyes and 7 freckles on your cheeks – yes you kept count. You were in love with your neighbour who went to the nearby college – you insisted it was more than a crush. Your teeth were white. You hated sports. Your brows were scanty. Your smile was beautiful even though you never knew. You were a whole lot of things, a whole lot of characters. Why can’t anybody see that we’re not the same? You died when my blunt black blade pierced your feeble white soul. Why can’t anybody see that we’re not the same?


    I tried saying hi today. No really, I did.
    The closer I got, the farther you seemed.
    I was getting nearer, and it was getting colder.
    The fire we once had was burned out.
    And with every try I made to contract my speech muscles, I was met with inhibitory impulses.
    With every attempt I made at moving to touch you, I was shocked at the loss of spark.
    You once used to be my light in the dark.
    What turned you off?
    My hardness is no match for your erect pride.
    Why can’t you too say hi?
    I really want to talk, but I don’t want to be first.
    Can’t you come say hello yet?
    I used to call you my favourite piece, my pawn.
    But what happens when the pawn crosses the board?
    Where did I go wrong? What’s our fault?
    Dear God…


    Weird. I just thought about you. I’m seated at the wedding ceremony of your former husband. He seems quite happy, I don’t know why I just remembered your face. And you. You were never funny, but I loved laughing to your jokes. I miss you sometimes, and I wonder if he ever does. How’s heaven? How’s baby Angel? 

    Hey You

    It all is just comedy to me. How you of all people had to be the one to die, it really is funny to me. I hope you get to read this. I don’t exactly trust postmen in hell. That’s where you reside right? I hope I didn’t get the address wrong. You’re cousins with Satan, so I just figured you should live around him. How’re you? 

    Humans. Fake Humans

    The hypocrisy we all thrive in, almost having ourselves deceived with the rest.
    Masking our true intentions of hidden peace at the sufferings of others.
    Perfect acting with fake show of affection and shared hurt.
    Don’t cry over my corpse if you pulled the trigger.
    Karma is my step dad.


    You astound me, everytime.

    Why are you so well guarded?

    Why have your walls been built so high?

    What are you scared of?

    Who are you afraid of?

    Wow! Me? I have walls? I’ve never noticed.
    Because the only thing I’ve ever had built, is my confidence.
    The only thing I’ve ever had around me is a curtain.
    And because everyone else is too scared to open it;
    Because everyone else is too busy judging;
    They’ve never really had the time nor will to peep in
    The only thing, the only person I’m scared of…
    The only thing, the only person I’m afraid of, is the one talking.
    You have no idea.


    In the sinister darkness of a moonless night, she stood.
    She seemed perplexed. Searching for something I still haven’t understood
    She strode. Sleekly, quietly, quickly. As though in pursuit of a shadow
    She finally found what she sought. Death. He couldn’t run quick enough.