Mindng my business and I was given a ticket

I hate planes.  And no, I'm not claustrophobic.  I can live in a closet and still go about my business. I've heard people say that they know it only goes one way, no Air force 1 bullshit. That is what I hate the most about planes. I fear my body will never be found if it crashes. So for every travel I've had to make I take the bus. I know some are saying what's the difference? Well, imagine maintaining a size, doing exercises to lose the fat that stubbornly refuses to disappear, and then to top it all, not having people cry over my body. Over my dead my. Uh-uh. No thank you.

Moral Code

In my country, we live by a code.

We are often told to pray, that it is the ray

to light our way

and when we open our mouths, vowels form

 volcanic sounds erupting with

thunderous rumbling consonants that emit from our bellies

foreign languages as we strain to hear the still voice amidst the noise.

We are told to believe everything will work out

Chant verses to subdue any avarice,

Cos to be poor is to be the richest man alive.

But cursed are the meek in spirit, for in their silence

they’ve built an asylum that house refugees with utter disregard

of our beliefs

sealing the fate of generations to come in concrete and wiping out humanity.

As we lay our moral six feet under the ground, the final prayer on their

lips will be the proclamation of a God, they say never existed.

Can I bribe my Tribe to take me in?

I was up all night watching Black Girls Rock.  I’ve consistently followed the show and I wasn’t going to let not having my antenna installed stop me- thank goodness for internet. The highlight for me was Michelle Obama’s speech.  Michelle Obama is the type I’d luvv to call my first lady. She was eloquent, exquisite, and egoistic in the right way. Being Black shouldn’t define you. She said (can’t remember the exact line) “rewrite the tired old script”.  Well, don’t know if racist comments, behavior, attitude can and will ever be rewritten and boy, hate came with refill, as there wasn’t a dry spell on the absurdity of people celebrating coloured girls. The cup they drank from overflowed. White twitter had no chile. 

I'm a fake!!

It has taken me twenty-six days to publish my first post. I forget that my blog is not only for poetry, but for me to share my experience; blogging forces me to be introspective. All I write comes from personal views and then some fictions.

Gosh, now this minute,I'm intimidated by the letters on my keyboard, almost don't know what to write ( been out of practice) and I'm floundering; deleting, rewriting and brainstorming. I've come to a conclusion that I am a fake. Yea.how do I explain the loss of words and work as an excuse?

2014: My Terrible year

*beep* rushing quickly to grab my phone from heaven knows where I put it. Frantically searching now, my heart pounding, hoping and praying that when I eventually find the damn phone, the message will soften the harsh lines on my forehead.

This basically summarises the first six months in 2014. What I never told anyone is how I scrapped to survive those months. But how can you be inspired if I  don't share the whole story... here, lemme begin

The brown boys

Feeling helpless isn't having
a disease play Judas to your skin
with a deathly kiss of friendship as
only kins do, stroking your hair.
This fear; a wet nurse to the brown boys
milked them of chances to grow to
become men who would one-day wear the 
title "father" but two-day these boys will 
be remembered as brother, son, friend, boyfriend
This feeling of dread walks freely on the streets
aiding bodies rid itself of carbon dioxide and 
using up the oxygen to burn the putrid skin
cos how does one explain their death?
or the shitty- yucky-self ideal called (sys)tem
shooting blanks and expecting results when 
it is clearly a selfish act.
This is for the brown boys 
who were shot at sight by blind men
dumb enough not to ask questions but
served sentence of death by the colour of skin
not by guilt of your offense.
This is for the brown boys
who were used as dummy practice for thrills by
trigger happy men who led open season
for coloured men, 
This is for the black who lack justice 
just because reasons are not enough to 
black out laws made to suit and tie the 
rich with power while skirt around the real issue.
This for the Till, Brown,Rice and others that will come along
innocent yet guilty by no design of their own other than
the pigment of their skin.

Don't...

Don't equate stupidity with my melanie
or think I must smoke pot cos I have dreads
locked in obscurity to think that I cannot be smart
coming from a country called "Africa".
Oh, by the way - I'm light skinned and
yellow is not the botanical name for pawpaw.
and if you think you are not a racist, then
the next time you see me, please don't go
"you must be Igbo".
Yes, I curse because it helps the course
of my action and it allows me shock you
seeing as you have stereotyped me to behave
as a proper well brought up African child
whose bloodlines reeks of respect and her kneels
isn't ashamed to kiss the ground in adoration.
but it gets me when elders abuse their position
shamelessly courting condemnation with their actions
and no, I will not obey the saying that a child should
be quiet when elders talk.
call me unruly, a disgrace, but isn't time a race
we are all running from, greasing death with creams so
you might appear younger and I'm tired of answering
your question " so what cream do you use"
you should go ask my mum if she chewed carrots and drank
fanta by the gallons before she had me.
I might not have a big butt but I have a big mouth
and I'm not afraid to work it cos it is an invaluable asset
that will never depreciated or run out of demand and
even though I don't run it every time you see me,
don't mistake my being quiet for being proud.

Luxury

Luxury cannot be afforded

 by printed notes

It is not a dwelling

crowded by furs and petticoats

nor can it be pinned on a map.

Even if defined as 

a condition or a situation

what it is isn’t deeply rooted.

Shallow and fickle

it hand out treats 

conjured by illusion

It’s sleight of hand 

immune to logic

with quick fingers 

alien to lottery players

on a chase for magic.

Real luxury is open as 

the lines on your palms

requires no reading or prophesy.

to see if and when it would be your turn

you feel at peace no matter what

.......

feels unfinished

Life

If I had a note for all the pains
I‘ve felt in life, I’d have built a wall,
stronger than the Berlin to hold off
the needle point daggers aimed at me

but what good would
that have brought me?

trapped in a fortress
with no trap door to escape

the loneliness laid
by bricks fashioned
to keep company away.

Life is unfair, but in fairness,

It has schooled me
in the art of survival.

A chameleon to combat
the changing tides,
I’ve become a wave
that’s not afraid to crash
and retreat to gather strength

the reason I have
multiple personality, is no treason
to them who see it as an affliction.
I wear it proudly.

So the next time you see me
act in the style worthy of a woman

whose accent is thicker
than a brogue, don’t be alarmed.

A wise woman told me,
there is no gain without pain

now, I relish the shots
as an addict and ride on the high

wings spread and feel the winds beneath my feet.

Day6- The next time

The next time you want to trade in your right?
think about this;
It is not left to 159 billion Nigerians or more
to make up for your 1% that could
have swung the vote
The next time you say “we already know who’ll win”
please do so in the scarlet letter you shall write to your self
for being a traitor to the cause of changing the “already’s” to “not yet’s”.
The next time you listen to the manifesto’s of copious aspirants
and chant songs praising their mantra to give you needs
on a platter of false grins and uncensored libels
you might want to hide your face from any camera lurking by
cos that will be the evidence that will be nailed to your coffin.
As for them whose dream is to get customized fabric wearing
the face of future cheats, your transgression
shall be printed not in bulletins that will fade
but in the history books.
And them that race for grains in sizes larger than a millet
Your dignity has been fried in the skillet
held by the hand that fed you falsehood.
The next time you say “I’ll not stand in the sun and cast my vote”
Remember that you’ll someday stand in line waiting to be handed
food in a refugee camp not in a foreign or strange land.