The biggest blunder in life is to look for open doors with a closed mind
I’m not okay, but it’s all fine. I’m not okay but don’t tell me I’ll be fine.
I am broken, and I’m not asking you to mend me, just to help me find the part of me I lost. You’re the candle to illuminate my darkest hours.
Even a crooked stick can draw straight lines; it all depends on the hand that holds it.
Fireflies trek my mind no more, the poison within killed the antidote now my mind is a mouldy can of dead worms.
But this stench is all I know. This darkness is all I am.
You say depression is a creation of losers who’ll blame everything but themselves for their weaknesses.
You say depression a loser’s mind-set.
But you can’t judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.
Don’t tell me the cloud will be up for a while; you know nothing about missing the sun even when it shines.
Shoulders drooped in humiliation,
Tears streaked visage,
Backs bent with guilt,
Eyes frozen with fear,
You know nothing about the life I live
The battles I fight
The haunting past
A future I dread
You know nothing about the breathes that choke
So bask in the comfort of your privileges
And leave me alone
Yes, I said leave me alone
I’ve found home in this darkness
This crowd suffocates me
My identity sun-dried and preserved
Can’t wait to revel in solitude
For I need serious conversations with myself
A duel with my demons
And reprimands from my guardian angel
She’s been off duty too long
This life we’re given is short
Too short to see enough
Too short to do enough
But still we make a difference
We rise beyond limits
We heal with every compliment
We strive, we triumph, we learn
We live for others
We share, we cure
The hollowness of a heart
But this life is precious
The candle may burnout
Before we reach the end of the tunnel
Then we lie we lived to the fullest
And graves become wealthier
We apportion blames
For goals unattained
Excuses relieving us
But puzzles remain unsolved
I did my part…
The marketer failed me
The lecturer failed me
The pastor robbed me
My parents broke me!
The greatest man I know
Bob Nesta Marley
Impacted the world
With positive vibrations
Without a social media account!
So Rise, Rise
Legends aren’t made
In comfort zones
I want to write
But the strange thing about words is
They slip through the mesh of your mind
flooding your judgment
Poor diction here,
You should have used imagery there,
This poem is too basic!
You killed your success
Before it could escape the jaws of perfection
For fear of rejection
You detoured from your destination
And sought opinions and corrections
Of words with purpose
now you’ve stagnated
Your own growth
But like a traveler in the midst of a desert
Craves a drop of water
We all crave a drop of inspiration
When pages lay blank
When poems remain letters
Without purpose nor destination
Then you remember we’ve all had these words
The perfect artist has them
The sorry poet has them
And then the wind blew
We all loved the cool breeze
But someone made a windmill
And now he mills profits
And the sun came up
Shone on and on
The palace and the tenement
To the rich and the poor
Second chance for all
To solve the puzzles of yesterday
To apportion blame
It’s a leveler
Brightened our paths
A fresh chance
To kick the dark spots
Off your path
I’m the one whose presence is annotated by perpetual absence of silence, call me siren
I’m you when your own heartbeat defies every step you take on the career ladder,
I’m the cancer that ate your mother’s breast when I knew she had twelve kids to be fed,
I’m the conniving spirits that duped your addicted father that rehab is for those trying to quit
I’m the hunger that drove you insane peddling your virtues for a plate of crumbs,
I’m the light skin black sheep of the family whose identity has been lost, everyday learning all that I am; all that makes my stomach churn with rage when I see in others.
I’m a hollow casket; my own corpse believes I stink
I am a lost shepherd sought after by sheep
I barely know me
I need revelation, from he who created me
The things I swore I couldn’t do have become a part of me
The things I hate doing
Things that fill me to the brim with self-loathe
Things hidden beneath my teeth and clothes
Sometimes I think my very existence is a mistake
My shoulders are burdened by heavy bundles of blame
For a past that I had no control over
Whoever sowed my seeds maliciously laced them with shame
I am sandwiched between two extremes;
Nobody understands me, neither do I
What am I worth?
I am the color of disappointment,
A definition of failure,
The barren branch of a vine that is chopped and burnt
The path to righteousness bruised my shoulders
Vanity didn’t find a place me
Love chose butterflies, fled from the dull me
Behind me trail 99 problems
No one in sight to help me solve them
And I am addicted to things am ashamed to pen…
What do I stand for?
For what purpose was I created?
Am I the only one asking these questions?
I am a faulty gun in the hands of a novice hunter cornered by a vicious prey
I am prey to alarm chimes reminding me every morning that I’m too small for my age yet too old for my dreams
I am the mess the society created but felt too good to clean,
I am the last crunch of a midnight snack that the throat moistens to swallow but the tongue still wants it back.
I am the insatiable bits of lust that blinded love. That craving for attention that sparked #mydressmychoice tension that lured your sister in her sweet sixteen to dress in micro-mini to call for catcalls without seeing sins in this, wallowing in the oblivion that ladies who command catcalls reduce themselves to specimens on which men practice their dominance.
I am a vestige of all the man I was meant to be, for when all is said and done the dilapidated apartments of my ribcage sinks at the weight of my failures, the stench of my wounded ego whisked my ambitions out of my system unto your doorstep as realities, so don’t brag to me about being on top of your world, man that’s my dream you’re living.
I am the last words of a slain poet, chocking on the metaphors as the last strike of destiny left my face spanked in wisps of crimson.
I’m the lost Angel knocking on Satan’s door, with premeditated good intentions soiled by your wicked expectations. The mustard seed of my existence strives to thrive, to give you million shades of love but you want to get me chained and spank me with lashes. Damn it! My creator fills my needs with million shades of grace so you can keep your filthy shades of Grey for yourself.
I’m the eye that finds you whenever you’re lost in thoughts, the gentleness in a beast that enticed the beauty, the flickers of nostalgia for times yet to come, the allure of a raspy voice that cajoled her to loosen up just 5 mins after meeting him.
I’m the history of mysteries that made you a best fit, a victim of your victories, the crooked stick that straightened your path to political stardom, the rag on the foot of your throne, the misfit that you dish thousands to have his head on plate, the ground is yet to drink the all blood of my lot you slaughtered to get where you’re. Success comes with a price tag but why are we the ones to pay for yours? Because we don’t have lives, because we’re shackled in poverty, because our lives don’t matter. listen, did you hear that. that’s the voice of my maker reminding you that this being you despise, this being you hate religiously, this being you’ve reduced to a metric to gauge your political bearing, this being you want dead because he couldn’t conform to your ideologies is still a work in progress.
Gravity Will Forget
Will Gravity ever forget?
That I ever existed
When pain is all it begets
Starving me while others feasted
Bruising my back on ragged earth
Breaking the spine of my life
Decimating my worth
As my body and soul got in strife
Pulling me back always
Weakening my strength
Barricading all my ways
And ushering anxiety in my life’s depth
Chaining my feet to anvils
Pounding my dreams to pulp
And feeding them to weevils
As my blood devils gulp
Bruising my knuckles
Spraining my muscles
Around depression tightening my buckles
Its ceaseless hassles
Will gravity ever forget?
Dreams Scare Me
As a child I knew my life was thought out
I knew come what may, I’ll make it out somehow
Then came obstacles that I trudged on
They soiled my hopes
And my dreams began to shrink
Choppers became cars,
Which eventually turned to bikes
Before I got contented with the means of mobility,
I was birthed with; my feet
I began having sleepless nights
Fantasies visited every night
It came with a number of friends
Insomnia, inability and anxiety
How odd fantasies and inability
Could hold hands?
An indomitable trio
Sifting through my mind
Scavenging for bits of possibilities
Like hurricane they swept all my dreams
And deposited them in the damp of my pillow
And they whisper
Pretending to be friends
Procrastination joined them
He’s a good friend I thought
“You’ll do it when you get back on your feet”,
He told me.
He always had the best words when I needed things done
There was always a better time to do it
Now wasn’t part of his vocabulary
He erased it from my dictionary
All became in an hrs. time…
Now my son asks me
Hasn’t tomorrow arrived?
When is a better time?
Will you ever get back on your feet?
Burry me deeper enough to stay dumb
Burry me deeper, for I don’t want to witness your fights
Fighting over what you didn’t create
When I labored all alone, broke my spine to give my children a life I only dreamt of as a kid
I see you wagging tongues, now you’re closer to a corpse
A corpse you couldn’t stand as a person
You eulogies suck, praises, now I am the man
Who stood for what is right
Who fed the hungry
Who schooled your children
But you never said thanks when I did all these
Burry me fast, am breaking at the weight of your words
I’m not in my grave yet
But I hear rants
Who takes what? Who takes what?
This is mine, which is yours, we share,
Share it all,
He would have liked me to have this,
Are you even my children?
I see them crumbled in a corner
They can’t wail anymore, they are the real losers
They’ve lost a father
And everything the father worked for
That they may enjoy when am gone…
Burry me deep before they begin crying,
I don’t want to see them walking barefoot,
I have no strength left to fight for them
Hunger will never kill them
But your greed will
Burry me deep, deeper enough
That my curses won’t reach you
I am the one whose presence is noted by perpetual absence of silence. should they call me siren?