You are not okay

Alone, is what humans can’t comprehend. The first man couldn’t stand to be by himself, so he begged God to fill the empty void with a befitting silhouette. His sons mated with their sisters, what now is a horrifying taboo was then perfectly in order because man mustn’t be alone. The greeks held such frivolous parties where they inebriated on laudanum and made philanderous attempts at maidens.

Long before telegrams, people made tedious journeys on foot, or with an animal for several hours, just to connect with someone for a couple of hours, and be able to tell other about it.

Social media arrived, and it’d be false to believe it was still about the personal interactions, like Lilian in the neighbourhood, or bob at work, because the whole world is watching, at least the network of Intelligence the government uses to monitor digital blueprints is .

It’s no more about you and I.

We are part of a network that ensures that we will never be left alone. Isn’t that great?, isn’t that what we want?

No?

Then there’s something wrong with you, perhaps you’re the type who relinquishes on casual encounters with strangers, who’ll end up chopped up inside your refrigerator. Or even a stalker, whatever, I am afraid you’re not right you see. You don’t call your parents or talk with your bestie for lengths at a time.

You are not okay.

The rest of us are so perfectly well-adjusted. We crave meeting people we’ve lost contact with and catching up, especially so we can tell our normal friends and anybody with ears about it. We love to go to work and smile with our bosses and colleagues even though we’ve fantasied about slashing their throat severally. HAHA. But that’s normal you see, everybody does it but you.

As long as we don’t understand you, you are dangerous.

So here are some pills. Take them till your fingertips are numb, your pupils are dilated, and you laugh at the top of your lungs at every horrible joke. Take them until you feel liberated to talk about the colours pirouetting around your ego. Take them until you’re empathless.

And then you will be okay….like me.

Let thy will be done

Sometimes I forget you see

that I’m not a bastard anymore

I’m still a careless child

but I don’t have to live in disconnect

trusting no one for so long as taught me to believe

that I had to survive alone in isolation

I had to think faster, work smarter

I tend to forgot that I don’t need to trade secrets to survive

neither do I need to keep secrets to feel a spur

it slips my mind. it really does.

There are layers to this journey called life

and likewise are there stages of the mind

but the biggest bullocks is of isolation

that’s when the voices become audible

sob a little louder why don’t you

no one can save you

it’s a dark droughty forest

one slip and you can sprain your ankle

and smash your head

scream louder but you’re still alone

doch!

what a noodle brain I have been

to forget I’m not alone

I had a father, and will have one for eternity

sometimes he breaths stillness in me

most times he prefers I move recklessly,

stumble on a table in a near psychotic episode

and he hears me loud and clear

he sees me when I visit our secret place

I forget sometimes that this place even exists

It needs a little spring cleaning, some home decor

but he’s there waiting

he sees my pain and replies, “it’s a process”

he gives me space in the darkness so I can ponder

that understand that there’s nothing truly there for me

I may scoff and curse, but in the end I utter the same words,

Father, let thy will be done.

Alone in the rain

Think of me

at times when you’re alone in the rain

whispering through splashes on the curb

pleading you to come back home

I’m not used to accepting vulnerability

Humility had no space in me

hard to believe you set me free

I can see you only with bewitched eyes

Unrepentant to my destructive ways

with angels echoing anecdotes of terror

unspoken words etched under your rib

the source of beauty is anything but pure

My voice is weak and trembly

it dissolves with each rain drop

the thunder, transient and poetic

and it was raining under your umbrella

I waited on you when the rain ceased

your curly hair and face were drenched

eternal sunshine came with your crooked smile

each wish i made, returned

A Painful Soul

“Scars

from battles hurt

as It should”

 

 

Way back when waking up every morning was a struggle (honestly not too long ago), I used to write into  my Journals aka my ugly notebook. I sometimes browse through them when I feel stuck.

My first journal is actually really depressing, I can’t believe the state of mind I was in back then, but there are some OK memories in there too.

This week I decided to reedit one of my poetry from it to prove to my readers who battle mental illness, and to myself that life can indeed get better. It is a journey, I still struggle and flop. However,  I am no longer that person, yet it is my story of which I’m proud 😀

Happy Friday!


 

Eyes

like alabaster

reaching into the darkness

of my soul,

I gasp.

 

Aroused

Inside me

A faux without doubt

Another life I’ve lived

stringing cords of distrust,

 

Or paranoia

the  definition of toxic

screaming out someone else’s pain

sliding through impressionable doom

unwillingly

 

The taste

like kolanut lingers

on my tongue

masking the chamomiley one

the ones before left

 

Scars

from battles hurt

as It should

yet I must separate the truth

from fallacy

 

Staggering

dysmorphia is crippling

oodles of bubbles ripple

through a heavy

fragile heart

 

let the  legs sink farther

quaking in unison as they bite dust

again and again

my soul will find your

darker soul.

 

Help.

friend, help!

For in solitude, I live

In solitude

I will dine.


 

CALL TO ACTION

Wait… wait…wait!!

Don’t just leave, Fill out the sign-up form on the sidebar or on my contact page to download my  special freebie.

 

Your support is appreciated.

 

Know Thy Worse Self

We’ve all heard it. We’ve watered it. And it’s grown, and it’s growing faster than innovation. It is the voice of destruction. The one who wants to kill you. The one who will stifle you, and choke you to death without justice.

I’ve listened to it whine, all my life. It’s told me how senseless I am. That I’m too dumb to ever be taken seriously. I am too weird to ever have a meaningful connection. I am too abnormal, no body could care less if I spoke or not. It said, I might as well blend in with the bland wall and disappear. Worse still, no one would notice if I’m gone.

For a long time I committed to it, it’s presence was seethingly stark in my earlier works.

Most days, I tried to reason with it, I accepted it, then I pleaded with it. Then, I  just disappeared like it told me to.

For a very very very long time, loneliness was in the air I breath, it was all I wrote about.

 

It wasn’t up to me, it wasn’t in my power. I began to realise how innovative I could be, then how fierce I am.

It’s okay if no one understands what my poetry is about. It’s gibberish, but even gibberish has added meaning to the heart. It’s fine that I’m not a jaunty influencer that everyone can connect with.

I’m weird, I know and nothing can take that away.

Nothing, not even you, the darkest side of my psyche can conquer me. I fight everyday to know my worse self, for only then can I truly destroy the bitch.

Once I had my wings broken, now I’m clawing my way out of darkness.

Letting myself know that I’m stronger for being weak.


Thanks for browsing through my daily thought. Don’t forget to subscribe!

Image: pinterest

Young

My mother’s thigh were my stepping stone to the world beyond when I was born.

Day in. Day out. I sat there listening, never understanding the sounds from her mouth.

I clung to her bosom, it was all that I had.

I remember my first movie, Elizabeth Taylor being swooped off her feet.

Maybe I could be a damsel in distress in a marble courtyard  someday, I mused.

It was such a  honor to be chosen as a damsel when I was young.

Some night, mom was my enemy, other nights, dad was my enemy.

Both nights I had someone I could confide in, an ally. My brother.

He stood up for me when  I was defenceless.

The hero I’ve never known until the day he became  mute.

The intimacy I had never appreciated until we became estranged.

Not by time, space, barrier, but by words.

I watched him detach, I watched him change.

Before my eyes I saw him become what I could never describe, what he may never be able to explain.

And that day came when I held his hand, I cried and bursted out in anger

He bowed his head for he didn’t want me to notice the creeping duress that was becoming too real.

His unflexible smirk revealed a cold war unfurling within him, he was no more than ten.

When I was born, I clung to my mother’s bosom, it was all I knew .

I knew my knight in shining armor all too well,  until he went missing, hidden inside a conch.

Now, I have even less than I did then, but I have chosen to be a knight to nobody, but him.

He is small and compact but  will always be my ally.

Then I met a man and when I told him this, he told me, “youth is wasted on the young”.

As we steadily approach the third decade of life, I have to admit that perhaps he was right.

 


Thanks for reading my daily thoughts . Have a lovely weekend and don’t forget to  share your comments and subscribe to get my free ebooks . Much love <3

Image Courtesy:  Silas Onoja on Twitter