Family bonds

I don’t know when I stopped

being my father’s daughter

perhaps I was tired of grappling at expectations

of using my blood to paint someone’s incompetent ego

I don’t know when I stopped

being my mother’s friend

perhaps I was tired of accommodating excuses

of staring at an epitome of disappointments

I remember when I stopped

being my brother’s sister

We ran and played till a fuse went off

I worry that spark may never connect

I don’t know when my prudent sister transformed

she says it was during Grandma’s death

Her light went dim as if she were dead too

she could only come out a different person

all I know

For as long as I have lived

Family has been the strangest bond

It runs deep only to evaporate like butane

you

I find it a bit comish

that I had to leave you to miss you

when we were together

I cursed you with every morsel of my being

you caused me many tears

not physically ofcourse, it was the feelings you stirred up

the feelings that made me want to lock myself in a shark cage

at the center of the earth and be there alone

lost. forgotten. dead

waiting for my fossils to be dug up by anthropologists eons later

it’s funny how much I love you now

how much I yearn for you

I never experienced this side of you

nor this side of me

it’s like scales have fallen from my eyes

and i’m beginning to peel a new layer of you

different from what I’ve been used to before

and I hope you feel the same way too

that you can feel a part of me

you can see me, as a whole

not a half-blood you loved to loath

me, for not only who I am

but for who I am becoming

oh my I hope you do

because I want us to remember each other

not for the past

but for every waking moment

I’m imperfect. say you can appreciate my mess

and I’d be lucky enough to see yours unfurl too

Love, Your former muse.

Free in the emptiness

Can we be empty for a day

can we meet back in the embers

that stirred our soul like wild forest fire

folding us into an empty space

far from the reach of salvation

Do you remember your freedom

can you forget your slavery

two words juxtapose themselves at extreme poles

Fear at the equivocal end to freedom.

freedom doesn’t begin without fear

Where did your soul wander

in the midst of so much darkness

why did the music stop

just when the encore was getting louder

when will the cycle of self-sabotage dwindle

For the free woman

for the feeling of effervescence

for the cynical soul

that don’t want anything in particular

and are not quite sure of what they’re looking at

until they see it set free in the emptiness

A Thousand Desires

A thousand days hold a thousand desires

folded deep in the solace of their palms

the longer I live, the more I yearn

to melt the ice that stores my desires

Humanity has taken away my compassion

replaced it fragile threads of apathy

I rented out my praiseful soul

to be a prisoner to karma’s undoings

My lust for power

has everything to do with life seductions

I blink so the viel that clouds my vision

may fall into the a furnace of enlightenment

Everyday I contemplate these Alexandrian dreams

unbidden treasures that pierce the clouds

Naked are the desires that caress my eyes

separating me from my soul’s deepest connections

Some Love

Tell me your story”, he said

We sat inside the sparsly lit coffee shop

Watching as the rain carassed the windowsill with every trickling droplet

And it reminded me of all the times we’ve been here.

From our first date in this very booth to when we became official. I remembered how I devoured a steak burger on our second valentine together ( our first one, I will still shy and proper) . I kept a diary so i’d never forget what you wore when we were out. And when things went super good, like when you got your job, we’d cackle and clink our beer glasses here too. When we got hitched, The house got free drinks on us and I danced ontop of this table like my feet would never be able to move again.

I remember the things you taught me, like the glass being half full and never half empty. And as I try so hard to cling onto the strands of optimism you instilled in me, an even sharper pain disrupts my spirit, reminding me that since two weeks ago, I will never see you sit in our favourite booth, at our favourite shack, since the accident that stole life from you.

This downpour is much like the tears that keep my eyes swollen. And even as I look up, the man sitting at your place with a gregarious smile is but a councelor that askes me everyday how I feel.

Well I feel like the thunderous clouds heavy in the sky, tormenting the people unlucky to be unprotected against it’s wrath. I feel anger at my own feeble nature. I wish it was me and not you, for you would have coped much better than I ever could.

But even at my weakest, i know that you would be proud of half the woman I am without you.

“Na ja”, I started to tell him, “some loves unfurl like a delicate winter flower, coming into full bloom in obedience to the peak of spring, others begin like a ferrarri going full throttle in switch gears that never runs out of diesel and ours — well ours was like a blip on an electrocardiogram that spiked high and never wavered, until one of us started to bleed and fade like an unblotted ink on a page.

The Garden

It’s the beginning of yet another week, I know

I know the dark calls to you sometimes

I know you walk down roads you know you shouldn’t

I know you observe your reflection through a jumble of shards

I know you’re worn out, tired of reliving patterns of painful choices

I sense you feel hollow at times

like life is teasing you, dancing in front of you,

but escaping you somehow

i know you live in the disconnect between where you are

and what’s happening outside of you

i know how much it hurts to live there, in the divide

between what you feel you are, and what you wish you could be

The sun has kissed your skin and you have inhaled it with complete trust

and you sometimes move without knowing what’s next

at times it feels paralysing to live with yourself.

I know you’ve worked so hard to control the outcome of your life

that you forget to meet yourself in the quiet and breath yourself full again

that you live in the shallow end and you forget to go deep,

breath deep ujjayi

you forget there is wealth of abundance and trust in you

i know there are places in yourself that you do not love

the parts you wrestle away

you visit them them from time to time, hoping they’re not there

i know you long to live in bliss

and when you arrive there you are so alive as if everything around you

is telling you yes, you’re home.

but i know shadows come while you’re asleep

and drag you down the familiar landscape of fear

I know you wonder if the light will ever return

because you’re tired of this upbeat dance between the two worlds.

you’re learning to taste heaven, grown wings

you’re accepting the difference

between sun soaked mornings and dark forests

you are human my dear and are allowed to be in both places

you are not damaged

you are not failing

you are allowed to be lost in dark rivers

be gentle when doubt comes, when fear chokes

when darkness debilitates you

spend special care to cultivate the garden of love when you come across these dark corridors.

know that you are offered the chance to tend your garden

the dark offers you a chance to love all the places you’d never dare

all the places you curse

where we deprive ourselves of love is where we need it most

when the dark comes , tell it what it what it wants so badly to hear,

You are loved.

Antionette Dreams

All my wishes are far from real

nothing in my reach, or here to stay

I may have been hibernating all my life

now awake as the arms of my creator paints my smile

A beautiful smile it is and yet no heart reflects

Porcelain beauty, Antoinette dreams

my soul is enchanted

I am a delightful breeze

to boy, girls and squirrel friends everywhere

wherefore can my mind wander outside my bubble world

Porcelain beauty , antoinette dreams

kids fall in love for all I am made of;

smoothened wood, lace strings in equal parts

molten plastic all over their itty bitty beating hearts

precious wonder I could never have

Every form I take , a marionette of sorts

transforms into magnificent architecture

The theatre is flooded with ceramic faces

freckled cheeks, gaping mouth. enchanted dolls

pointy noses like nobles of days old

My eyes as wide as the hollow in my thorax

Close your eyes and you may hear

a tally of ventriloquist tales

attached to their chest like the strings on my limbs

and silence so provoking it has it’s own rhythm

After all the glam and glitter

An exhilaration that make my smile ache

the stage lights dim, curtain drawn

Left alone in a broad misty chest

a tinge of cold in the piece of me

where my Antoinette dreams may well be buried

Image Source: The-maksimov.livejournal.com

The Involuntary experiment

It is not unusual for the internet to give out every once in a while, however I do throw a little bit of tantrum for the first few mins and then grab a book. Normally in just about the time it takes to feel really weird tension about the situation, the internet is back. If the internet outage lasts longer, I would have to practice mindfulness and honestly, who wants to do that?

Last week we had terrible internet service. I’m talking every other day lasting for at least one hour . I felt so dishevelled and uneasy and basically resolved to the most weakest action imaginable, complaining.

And then the situation escalated.

Sundays my routine starts with our fellowship. Lunch thereafter and when we get home I stretch across the bed and read blogposts till I doze off. However, sometime in the early evening of last Sunday, the Internet gave out. Luckily there was a festival in town which I didn’t want to visit but given the lack of internet, I figured by the time we’re back, it’ll be all dandy—- except it wasn’t.

It extended to nearly 3 days. In this period, I went through at least 4 stages of emotions

Impatience

Have you ever seen something you really wanted but it was at the other side of a densely thick glass? My best analogy would be when our dog occasionally meets our bunny . they are separated by a large bunny cage, so the dog begins to whimper and quiver.

He then lashes out and barks. This was me between Sunday evening and Monday. I couldn’t help being bratty which resulted from my impatience.

Fake hopefulness

This is when I got silent partly because my husband spoke to the company and they assured us they were working on the problem. Albeit it was more soothing to hear that other houses with the same internet provider in and around our vicinity was affected too. I know that sounds wrong but I believe it’s also wrong to suffer alone.

This emotion is similar with impatience in that it is ego-driven, that’s why it’s fake. An overgrown ego (and the telecom) telling me that it will be over soon. Except when it’s not, I’m back to square one, complaining. A little unhealthy psychological projection here and there.

Acceptance

By the end of Monday till Tuesday, I had made peace with it. I used my mobile data more knowing that it could finish any moment and I would be in complete amish mode. I came home in the evening and there was still a network interference so I shrugged, watched a series on my phone and slept.

Anxiety

Right in this moment that I’m writing, I feel anxious although I woke up to stable internet service. I’m anxious that It could go off at any time. But more-so that if it does, I will start from stage one all over. I preferred stage 3.

Subject B’s reaction

My man on the hand, kept his composure the entire time and wasn’t once tempted into using his mobile data to watch anything that wasn’t on social media. I want to say that it’s because of the European Championship game. Our tv wasn’t affected. Maybe he would have felt the impact if he couldn’t watch his game, or maybe he’d have gone to a friend’s. Either ways, I never want to find out.

One thing about me is that I feel the emotions projected by people. Yes, tears drizzle down my cheeks while watching movies even though it’s not real. That’s why if he had been upset as I was, I would have been a wreck altogether. His energy kept me calm and brought me to acceptance quicker.

Final notes

On reflection, there were other sub par, hardly distinguishable emotions. Yet these four, I couldn’t ignore even when I tried. I also did learn about patience in these dreadful days. That’s a word that keeps coming to me recently. I feel God trying to force patience into my life.

Thanks for stopping by. Been a minute since I checked up on y’all. I hope you’re having a chill mid-week. Let me know if you’ve ever had to go a day or a week, voluntarily or involuntarily, without internet and how you handled that in the comments below. Chao.

A Lost Voyager

I remember being driven around but not wanting to go home

I remember poking high ceilings with silence, unheard

I remember breathing into my heart, separated from my abdomen

and expiring blazes of firework.

I remember anomalies mingling with the soft mosturizer on my skin

I remember being octracized for being more ebony than chocolate

more wolf than sheep. A blank river filled with myself.

Like a voyager,

My body became a fabric taking illiterate roots

I dreamt if baltic ember beads, red as rust they were

smell of butane in the air

flanked by buttercup and daised skies

I remember calling out with glassy eyes

knowing nothing, embracing everything

searching for home or the sound of familiarity

but most of all, I remember being lost in my soul.

Image credit: designyoutrust.com/poetic-haunting-illustrations

I too have something to say

Breaking news, beautiful people, I’m back!. If you’re wondering what I mean by that, I honestly have no inkling. But today, I too have something to say regarding cultural silence and violence towards women.

The other day, My dad posted something about why women’s modesty is equal to virtuousness on our whatsapp group. My sister challenged the post with some strong feministic views. Now if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s ignoring conflicts. I’m not proud of it. Albeit, this banter did trigger something almost like a primal defence system in me, Much unlike any conflict. This may have a positive association with an issue I’m still dealing with.

If you’ve followed this blog for a while, then you may remember that I was raped at about age 7 by an uncle. I don’t like to bring it up, and it’s not a ploy for sympathy. I thought that was in the past, but apparently it resurfaces when a women virtues is questioned.

Permit me to derail yet again. Y’all know Nigeria right? the country that I’m rumoured to be from. We tend to be late, however the first feminism movement completely flew past us. Todays, several Nigerian women are what I call “Quasi-feminist”.

I simply do not value gender roles. I don’t care about whose submissive or who makes the most money. So, why did this simple harmless post about women’s choices of outfit churn my tummy into chucks? Then it hit me, this had nothing to do with the post, and everything to do with my father. I can’t come to terms that my father much like many Nigerian men still believe that rape is either partly or wholesomely the victim’s fault. Much like he may have not come to terms with his step-brother’s action. This is a conversation we need to have but I can never see it happening. Maybe in my next life, maybe.

The #MeToo movement bellowed the voices of women that were living in silence. Rape has been an epidemic in Nigeria for years but it has never been brought up as a societal concern because women are silenced against their violators and programmed to believe that it is a consequence of her promiscuity while the offending gender are left on the bench .

Many victims will venture through life never reaching their finest, most distinguished potential, because conflict especially with the opposite gender sets them back to the moment they got assaulted and they are crippled with a need to be submissive in order to survive.

As a writer, I feel like something has been stolen from me every time I want to connect with my childhood experiences and find blocks rather than creative flows. This doesn’t mean I’m bad, I’m acknowledging that there are seams of my memory that I don’t have access to and that really sucks.

My final point is harsh but there’s no polite way around it. I’ve probably penned it in poetry. They say children grow up to be their parents, and that is my biggest fear. I intend to triumph all the many different ways I am messed up, really because my children deserve to not grow up around the same personalities I did.

Thanks for stopping by for one of my self-therapy sessions, but I have to disappear again. I hope you endure my sadistic poetry for another week till I get back to creating real content.

Auf weiderschauen!