cost of oppression

There comes a day when the oppressor won’t meet the cost of oppression; unfortunately, it’ll be too late, the oppressed won’t adapt to new freedom

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Fat

Hi, I’m Dorcas, I had lost my beauty to spare tyres, but only 2 months in this weight loss program, I lost 50 kilos, and I’ve got my beach body back!

Hi, I’m Titus and used to have a lot of belly fat that my doctor said was the sole cause of my erectile dysfunctions but only 2 months in this weight loss program, I lost 30 kilos and I can now hit that thing!

These are the lies they have used to mint billions and leave behind broken people in pursuit of illusionary beauty.

Beauty is a multifaceted phenomenon that can’t be defined by weight alone. In fact, the last time I checked beauty wasn’t synonymous to Slim!

You peg my worth on the sizes of my body parts and expect me to use it as collateral to buy acceptance.

The media is quick to give you statistics of people who die of obesity, but they can’t tell you how many of us die of self-hate because society didn’t accept as the way we are.

They’ll proudly present to you two people who lost weight massively but won’t tell you of the thousands of plus-sized people who’ve committed suicide because of the cyberbullies they paid.

They’ll lie to you that slim people are smarter but won’t tell you that the ‘fat’ kid that came last in class spent half the term at home for fear of being bullied!

Can’t you see, that this weight issue is a propaganda propagated by schemers who want you to make a contribution to the multi-billion weight loss industry they profit from!

And I hear curvy women complain of catcalls, we plus-sized women don’t get catcalled; we get insulted!

We have been called by degrading names; pumpum, momo, superdrum, drumset, I have lost my identity trying to find where I stopped being a human being.

The society with its unrealistic expectations of what a beautiful woman should be has changed me; I’m the master procrastinator. I have a hangman’s noose on my ceiling but every time I climbed the stool, the sun seemed beautiful, I have procrastinated suicide so many times that death itself is procrastinating taking me!

The truth is, I am not fat, I’m well built. I’m not fat, I’m just big in the right places.

I’m not fat; my personality is too big to be constricted in naked bone-frames. I’m not clumsy, I’m not lazy; I’m just too busy living my life to count calories!

The bible says that my body is the temple of God, you think I’m fat? No! I’ve just created more rooms for the angels!

I wasn’t made to impress

I won’t die of stress trying to fit in a cocktail dress, see, I’ve got enough meat for the wedding dress!

Don’t tell me I’m fat when God who owns the world hasn’t complained that I take more space than what he apportioned me.

I’m beautiful the way I am. Period. I don’t even know why I had to write this to prove that to you, when you spend your days on your knees praising how beautiful and wonderful God is! Don’t you know, He’s just like me!

Hunger bites

Hunger bites
My empty-bellied wallet stares at me
My eyes hello back with deeper hollowness

Phones are dead
My uncle says,
Not today

I pick my journal
235 dollars in receivables
But no one has a dime

A friend says
You’ll get through it
Faith without action?

Find me in the morgue!

What’s in the kitchen cabinet?
Floor, sugar, ketchup, and salt
Can’t I make tea?
No, no tea leaves!

But hunger still bites
I call someone
She says I’m a spendthrift!

So I boil water
And take a warm bath
I’m clean in my hunger

Childhood Indulgence

The place we used to hide in is no longer a secret, they have discovered it and known the secrets it kept. Our beautiful moments flew when adulterous wives brought their men in; the charcoal notes stood the test of time—to tell tales of our childhood indulgence.

Love Pencil Art Wallpaper Pencil Art Hd Wallpaper

Deprived

I’m not ready, she said
You have to be, he replied
And that was final
She, left neck- deep into the mess
Chained to the ways of the land
The daughter of the lake
A man she has to take
Father’s choice
20 yrs was the age difference
She complained she had another
But gods had decided
And their will she had to obey
She had been fed enough
It was time she got disposed
An item of trade she was
And a herd of cattle was the price
Who cares:
If he loves her or not?
If her heart melts for another?
If he’ll treat her well or not?
If he had a functional engine or not?
She had to be married
To the man who’d lost sight
But still had insatiable appetite for tender flesh
The three-legged man whose backbone needed straightening
He smiles, he whispers seduction but all she thinks;
“Old man you need a mouthwash”
Who cares?
She’ll get used
A herd of cattle wasn’t a small price to pay

Atheist’s Argument

Out on a Tuesday night
Watching people worship the God of the Israelites, the God who punished Israelites for 40 yrs and bribed them with manna and quails to forget.
The same God who sent the Satan in the image of Snake to give the woman a rotten apple— the apple that ejected human race from luxuries of Eden.
The same God who destroyed those in Sodom and Gomorrah because they chose a YOLO lifestyle and melted Lot’s wife simply because she couldn’t control her reflexes
The same one who forced Jonah to go to Nineveh without even considering his approval and then planted a big fish to eat him half-half and leave vital parts heart, elbow, lungs and testicles …just imagine being alive in the fish’s intestines for days…ouch!
The same one who brought havoc on Job for no good reason—yet Job served him with all he had…I’m telling you about the same God who murdered the pharaohs, slaughtering innocent children, and women
I tell you, they had forgiven him…ooh what a good thing to be the lord—you’re the grand puppeteer.

Guilty Victims

Papa today I saw him
The man who snatched life me
He’s free papa
And his health is getting better
Papa, he fed on my blood
My virgin blood!
And drank my tears
He owns my flesh
Every inch my breasts grow
My fears swell
Will it arouse them?
Will it tell them I want it?
I saw him, and the memories surfaced
My mind popped open, and worms crawled out
There’s nothing left in this skull
But memories of torture and pain
All rotten
The smell won’t let me eat
The guilt won’t let me sleep
Don’t lie to me papa
I’m guilty
Wasn’t he right to pluck the flower of my childhood?
Wasn’t I meant to please the desire of men?
Papa, I’m guilty of fighting him
Guilty of reporting him
Guilty of damaging his reputation
I’m eating my flesh away
Or did I get sick?
Papa life has no meaning
Don’t you have death on speed dial?

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