Sometimes I wonder if it is love, hurt, pain, an inability to forget or just plain stupidity?
Whichever it is, it makes me sad. Memories of you make me sad. Yet I go back there all the time, cling to every piece of memory that escaped the expungement and all that the internet stored.
When does this end?
When do I get better?
When do I start to live my life again?
Because I see you living your life, I see you even moving on and I wonder how twisted this is that I can’t move on. Not…
Smile at my jokes, I’ll make them funny for you
Dance with me, I’ll find my rhythm for you
Listen to my stories, I’ll build characters for you
Vibe to my music, I’ll make melodies just for you
But, what would you do for me?
Would you see beyond the dry humour to the blandness of my soul?
Would you see the short shivers in-between the dances from memories of a time before you?
Would you hear the things I do not say in the stories I tell?
Would you penetrate the silence that follows after the music stops?
Would you love me?
I grew up not believing I was pretty. When this thought started, I can’t say but it lay cemented into the very fabric that defined my person. Compliments were strange and felt like a calculated attempt to mock me. I mean, what could be pretty about a short girl with a shorter hair cut (shout out to ISL principal, Nuhu Hassan for those haircut competitions), no earrings or fitting clothes, not even my uniform fit my image of beauty.
Everything was out of place but the extra flesh on the back of my legs was just the worst part, wiggling…
Coronavirus content writer, weird right? But that’s who I feel like these days. I am writing this at a time when the world is battling a strange pandemic that doesn’t kill as fast as it spreads. The problem is however with the fact that its spread comes with an unhealthy dose of fear and crippling economic realities.
I don’t know how I feel about this virus and I mean who cares about how I feel, but I know how reporting on this virus makes me feel. …
It is never okay to call me baby in a bid to make me buy your wares, neither is touching my hand going to increase your chances.
It is not okay that you stare at me as I walk past. Say something nice if you want to but don't stare. Don't reduce me to a sexual object or make snide comments about my body
It is not okay to press your body against mine while we commute through the already disturbing roads of Lagos.
'Hey, you look nice' will always be a better option to 'baby girl come na'
I am known to move on from places and the people in them. Every new phase comes with new people, but I do not seem to have the ability to retain the people from previous phases and transition with them into new phases. Primary school, new friends; secondary school, new friends; university, new friends and the trend goes on, no end in sight.
I have mastered the art of forging new friendships; I have become accustomed to the excitement of discovering interesting things about a new friend. I actually get an adrenaline rush with every new prospect of friendship. …
Day 5 is coming a whole day late, but we move!
The glint in your eyes, the twitch on your face, the shifting of your weight from one leg to balance on the other, the darting about of unfocused eyeballs, I see all these things. While having conversations with people, I notice all these tiny details which indicate interest or the lack of it. I might not remember what you said but I sure will remember how you looked while you saying it. …
Content Writer|| I paint pictures with the words I write and travel to places with the ones I read