i am the most unstable person, you see

one minute i am loving life

air does not choke me

my eyes don’t water and

i will walk my path in this world

and swim against the tides

i can

do it, but the next

i think

what even is the point?

i know better than to

compare myself to other people but

i do it anyway

(why am i so different? so unloved?)

sometimes i feel

i am not supposed to be here,

like everybody merely just tolerates me

i am certain that i make them uncomfortable

almost like

a close friend that smells a little too bad

you won’t send me away, or utter it, but you would wish

that i check myself, do what i have to do

so really, that’s how i feel–

that if i left, it would be better

for everyone around me,

and maybe,

maybe i would find peace too.


you made magic
before our eyes,
birthed eight vibrant children,
never wavering, you put them
in the hands of the goddess.

you said to wash my head three times,
and throw out the sponge whilst
not looking back,
you refined gold, and delinquent children,
I saw the smiles between your eyes.

you said, “we eat only what our mothers can feed us”,
and look how that has turned out,
your words are imprinted on your daughter’s skin,
she flaunts them like a garment,
and even joseph is shaking,
wherever he is.

the first time i told myself

“you are beautiful”

i didn’t mean it

i said it to console myself

to make myself feel better

i didn’t feel it.

so when sarah said i

looked like i was carrying HIV

i cried and

i was not surprised.

the second time i told myself

“you are beautiful”

i giggled nervously

i felt it seep out of my bones-

slowly, but it left-

-the need for validation

i stripped myself of it all

clothes, boundaries, walls

and stood in my own glory

in that moment, i

forgave sarah

who i heard was feeding

solely on slimming tea.

you know you are seriously done when
you log onto the internet and see
your ex has leaked your nudes
you ignore the judgemental comments
and scroll onto the next post
things like that don’t phase you anymore

you know you are seriously done when
there’s an epidemic and you know
you should wash your hands yet you don’t
because now, you don’t even care anymore

you know you are seriously done when
razor on your skin feels like breeze
and tomorrow when you slice your wrist
you will see a fork-like vein
and wonder, “should i cut here?”
you’re better dead than alive anyway

you know you are seriously done when
suddenly heaven doesn’t seem like that much of a bliss
and hell doesn’t even seem that hot
and even if it is, you are ready to bear your cross

you know you are seriously done when you begin to contemplate suicide.

does the realisation come all at once, or do you begin to understand this little by little?

summer has ended but throughout the year, it is summer for you. your brown skin, brazen bronze that shimmers and glimmers in the sunlight, and even in the absence of it.  hair like wool and you are stagnant, you are past the age of growing but you develop in character and mindset and as you age you begin to know what is good from what isn’t. isn’t that why you left me?

i see you two times a week, looking fresh as hell. eyes that carry smiles and happy strides and ironed outfits and reverberating laughter. it’s then i’m the opposite, the first glance. the first instance i see you. but then you look at me and i know, i know you’ve seen me even though i don’t see you do it. i know because your smile had faded and all that is left is mind boggling seriousness, because why is eye candy deficient of a smile all of a sudden?

but that is when i shine. that is when my face is plastered with a huge grin, and suddenly my post traumatic stress disorder suffering friend is suddenly the funniest person in the world, even though she has not parted her lips for close to two hours. can you see how the roles have reversed?

fake smile carrying eyes and hands in pockets, backs turned and yes, opposites do repel. i see the confusion in your eyes and you’re a lost boy. all recipes of sadness, like my grandmother’s yam and oil. i’ve always known that the many faces you wore did not belong to you.

i know the things that even the closest ones to you do not know. you revealed them to me yourself, and i truly am sorry that i could never deduce them myself, although i had my suspicions. i guess i just wasn’t IT. isn’t that why we split?

there are hours you are happy though, i know. there have to be, right? i’m praying so. i hope you enjoy the sound of rain but not the beating of it against your skin, and i hope your mother’s face still makes you happy. mine doesn’t though, you know, i blame her for all my misfortunes, ever since you left. she couldn’t keep a man, i won’t have that ability too. it’s a genetic thing. and it manifested when you walked away so quickly you didn’t even looked back. wild.

i hope you’re okay. i would ask, but i don’t have the balls to. you know, apart from the fact that i wouldn’t want to be a bother. you’ve finally gotten rid of me. i’m still constantly crying.

i fear for the day i will die.

the way my hands tremble as i write of the forbidden, the way my chest tightens

i fear

the day i will sleep and wake up no more


the lodging of a bullet – cylindrical, lethal and deadly – into my brain, and the crumbling – and killing pain that follows

or even-

the way the causal agent of my final decease – a long, silver knife that glistens – will take its position in my chest, right on top of my heart until it digs deeper, and deeper, and deeper until it finds an artery and inevitably, it will burst it open and i will finally cease to be

the planned attack – the day my enemies and all the people i have offended will decide that they have had enough and can no longer continue to coexist with me on this face of God’s green earth, so they end my life. i wonder if it would be lethal poison, a shot to the head, an intentional car accident, a club to the forehead. i can’t help but wonder.

i wonder if it’ll be one of these days, when i’m looking into the mirror and only finding the fragments of a broken, lost girl and slashing my wrist viciously, repeatedly, watching the blood stain the walls, my thighs, the floor, my shoulders vibrating and my head pounding, mourning all of the things that never even existed. i wonder if it’s then i’ll see it – a vein, fork-like and delicate and wonder if it should just cut it and end my life. because i know in that moment, i’ll be too broken to say no to my demons, i know i’ll do it.

and when i die, one day all i’ll be is the faint memory of a lost, unsuspected girl.

i fear the day that nobody will care. you see, people always move on. we claim to be so weak and frail and everything strength isn’t, but we get over loss. we forget. we eventually do, and we hide it under the guise of “it gets better with time”.

you’d be surprised at who gives a damn about you and who doesn’t.

but that day, i’d know.

it’d hurt, because the same people always said they couldn’t do without me. the love they showed – fake anyway, i couldn’t fathom how they’d just be okay.

when i die, they’ll mourn me for – two weeks? then they’ll move on. simple. like i never existed. like i was never here.