Earth to Mars

Make up a story

You can live in

Translate it into everything you see

The edgy night, the cloaked stars

It’ll ripple your life over and again

In perpetual cycle

of the present moment

Chiming to a hastened ocean breath

 

 

The less one can see

The more limitless

The mind is programmed to be

The harder it is to stay grounded.

What if I discovered a way

to do both

to go from Earth to Mars

What if.

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.


 

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Ready to let it go

Yesterday was a considerably long day because I made a phone call. This phone call was one which is particularly important to me.

It was my brother’s birthday, and I needed to confront parts of myself that is connected to him. If you haven’t already, please visit my post titled; Young. If you gave that a read and you were wondering what that was about, here’s the other part I purposely omitted because I wasn’t ready to go into depths that day I published Young.

My brother started behaving different when I was maybe 8 and he was 10. I was prolly the only one who noticed at the time until his grades came in.

We went from being best friends to me wondering why he was so withdrawn. He wasn’t talking much and I spent a lot of time hypothesising what it could be, I just couldn’t fathom it.

I was mad. I was resentful, I eventually became withdrawn as well.

When folks ask questions about my family, I’m always avoidant. A lot of people actually think I’m the first born until I get too comfortable and spill, something I regret immediately after, they would then go; ” Oh, you have an older brother? what’s he doing, where’s he at?

And I would deflect and feel ashamed

The authorities, doctors in Nigeria didn’t know either. When I learnt about Autism and Autism spectrum disorders, I began comparing it with his routine and repetitive mannerism and I was so sure I’ve diagnosed it.

The more I researched Autism and Asperger’s, and compared with him, the more I realised this wasn’t it. But for lack of better diagnosis , I stuck with it.

When his MRI scans came out, it showed that the plump parts of  the internal capsule that connects the left and right hemispheres of the brain did not develop completely, so called agenesis or hypogenesis of the Corpus callosum. Extremely rare tho

Finding the pathology brought a touch of closure for me, I guess. Since I was 8, I’ve only ever wanted to understand what it was. For those interested, I will leave a link here and below.

Odudu didn’t go to uni or technical college because he doesn’t have the mental capacity to deal with it.

Nevertheless, his meek soul is one I’m proud of.  A lot of our childhood experiences taunted me with guilt, shame and with a touch of inadequacy, feelings I’m all too familiar with and extremely tired of. Right now, I’m working on  building a new ,unbreakable relationship with my brother again

When I struggle to get my life together and to get a continuous stream of income, only 30%  is about my future.

Life is not fair but my brother deserves a future and it’s up to God and me to bring it into fulfilment.

Thanks for reading my daily thought <3

Here’s the link on Ageneis of Corpus Callosum

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.


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Image: pinterest

What is Your Drug?

God did not create religion. He created man, he then commanded man to multiply and fill the earth. In that very instant, he gave man a  precious gift; love, because he said; Love me, then love your brother like you would yourself. Religion is a weed sowed into man’s heart by the ruler of the world. It is a drug to many.

Why do people experience thoughts that aren’t real?  Feelings that plagues and subdues them into believing there is no escape, no better life for them until their lives end. It assumes the role of a god, but it’s just one in a plethora of worldly spirits.  Not too long ago, I had such a demon. It filled me with feebleness, told me nobody loved me, I was nothing; but by what some might call a lucky streak I received the saving grace and clung to it, albeit it wasn’t luck because that grace is abundant and available for every single person, whether they have a worldly spirit or not. Just forsake that tormenting voice of hopelessness and destruction. Find that reinvigorating grace and let it become your new addiction.

What is your drug? Is it an abusive relationship, is it grieve over a decedent, or is the fear of letting go? What will you do when you have no more tears left?

I have never learned to say goodbye. After my Grandmum’s premature demise, my family hid it from it for as long as they could. It was easier too because I was in boarding school.  Then I found out, and I was insouciant. The origin of my alexithymia, and many lonesome nights. I avoided the funeral, matter of fact, I have no clue about her final resting place. Then one night I was having a  nightmare. Or a vision, not sure, but I saw her, she came to me. I wanted to know where she was, so I asked and she told me to come to her, with her and find out. I was going to, then I got a bad feeling on getting closer. That apparition wasn’t my Grandmum, I woke up. It took a while for me to process that dream, and I still haven’t completely but I do know why it happened. I had to face the fact that she would never come to visit again, bringing toys and food, that we couldn’t stay up late in the night practicing Yoruba anymore. I had to bury her.

So you see, alcohol and oxycodone are not our only drugs of choice. It takes a lot of self-reflection. One must be willing to tear themselves apart. What we discover could shake the foundation of our identity. It’s hard but then we discover whom/what the master is. We all have one or more, even the people who think they don’t (In that case it’s probably pride).

Religion is a contentious son-of-a-bitch, imagine a scenario where you’re free from your master, and you’re running into the world, there are too many belief systems out there, all assuring you that their’s is the truth. Now you’re caught in between a rock and a hard place.  Here is where that sweet-savory graceful salvation swoops into the scene. Irrespective of religion, I chose to serve the omnipotent God.  You may take me to the Sikh’s gurdwara and I will extol him there because he alone is the plug. He has no hidden agenda.

There is no value in religion, race or human wisdom. The only valuable commodity is love. Even if we chose not to believe in anything, let’s not dismiss people because they haven’t attained similar social status as us,  or because they are freaks who have been admitted into the psych ward, once too often. They’re family. We should have compassion nevertheless for that is God’s will for us, to be addicted to the love he so richly provides to us, his people. God bless us.