The Wounded Healer

Her words are deep, and perhaps, far too deep, because they do not come from her heart. She writes and speaks with passion only because her words come from the pitch of her stomach. As these words travel up her torso, they avoid her heart like a plague.

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“Yemoja” [Artist Unknown]

Her heart is severely wounded, so she strives to protect her words from blood stains. She chooses not to release the words that live in her heart because they are filled with pain.

She is hurt
and she is weak
and she is dying slowly,
but it’s not for her listeners who need healing to see…

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Sunny Moon. Moony Sun.

She’s like the sun.
You go too close to her, and you burn.
You go too far away from her, and you freeze to death.

She’s like the moon.
You go too close to her, and you’re blind in your fantasy.
You go too far away from her, and you can’t see.
You can’t see a thing; you can’t dream.

You stay right where you should be,
and she glows for you.
She’s half-sun and half-moon.
Queen.
Half-sun and half-moon.
Me.

Greed-White-Greed

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Green-White-Green.
The ‘green’ dey plenty
but the ‘white’ no reach,
upon say we dey preach.

Daddy is the first “green”,
mummy is the second,
and the “white” is their son- Junior;
all his decisions are made for him.

His birth name is Purity,
but they barely call him that,
and his opinions almost never matter.
“Junior, sit down there.”
“Junior, excuse us;
go out to play with your friends.”
“Junior, the adults are talking;
you ought to walk away.”
“Junior, cover your ears.”

We say “the young shall grow”, abi?
It’s one of our favourite quotes.
Our hope is that one day,
Junior will grow to be a strong man.
A pure-in-heart woman will marry him.
They’ll give birth to a gorgeous daughter;
she’ll be very “green”,
and she’ll grow to be big and strong.
Our new flag will be “white-green-white”.

Green wouldn’t need to cover her ears;
there would be no need to.
We would have a new country;
our leaders would do what they should do.

“White-Green-White.
Na only ‘white’ we dey see,
but the ‘green’ no reach,
sake of say we no rich.”

You can agree that
the above won’t happen,
and you can disagree,
but wetin be the point of the wealth,
if na only few people rich.
Wetin be the point of the wealth
if they no dey share the money-
if they no let the money reach?


If we do am make the money reach everybody, nobody go rich, but you know as e dey go now. Everybody wan rich.

Socialism means- nobody gets rich, and we’re all equal, wealth-wise. This can’t work in reality. Capitalism means- some people get rich, but some people stay poor.

Either way, some people are not going to be rich.

Does nihilism come with socialism? You know you can’t be richer than you are anyway, so what is the point of aspiring to achieve anything if you can’t get the ultimate reward (whether or not it’s gotten at the expense of others)- wealth?

Everything is designed to be fucked up in one way and another.

Push Through

This is the legend of Gbàdà,
the favourite of his former owner.

One day, his chains were removed,
and he was declared a free man.
In excitement, he began to dance,
on the broad road by the plantation,
all day, and all night,
and he hasn’t stopped since then.
He doesn’t know where home is;
he doesn’t know what home was.

He’s been released, but he’s not free yet;
he’ll be free when he stops dancing.
The blindfold’s off but he can’t see yet;
he’ll see when he stops laughing,
when he stops crying,
when he starts moving,
when he starts trying.

Maybe one day, he’ll get home,
if he doesn’t dance himself to death.
The name “Freeman” is as bad as “Ransome”;
he needs very thorough rebirth.

As Bright as Darkness

HELLYWOOD:
When your lights go off,
or when they don’t shine as brightly,
darkness is turned on in your heart,
and a new evil is birthed in your soul.

You do not like to not be
seen as often you used to,
so you turn more of your rays on.

As soon as another light becomes brighter,
and another surely will,
you turn even more rays on.
You’d do anything and everything
to not be overshadowed by another light.

You more light the others see,
the more of you they see,
and the less you they see,
and the less you, you see,
and the more of them you see
but the less them you see.

Everyone knows what you are,
but no one knows who you are.
You shine so bright, so exceedingly well,
but there’s deep darkness inside.

For everything you do not do,
and for everything you do,
for everything you do not become,
and for everything you become,
there are consequences.

The Lady of the Hood

She’s the storm in the calm
and the calm in the storm.
Life is in her right hand,
but death is in her left.
Sweetness is in her right buttock,
but chaos is in her left.
Honey is in her right breast,
but poison is in her left.

She’s right-handed, until it’s broken,
until the wrong words are chosen,
until she’s robbed of her token.
Oh, what the hell is “soft-spoken”?

“Yes, you better be joking.”
That Queen is a fiery ocean.
You dare not hurt her children;
she keeps her cold heart frozen.

She meows and strides before she roars,
like a humble bureau-cat.
She marks her territory;
she does it just like that.
If you trample on her
like the people do on mats,
with the class and style of an aristo-cat,
and the power and poise of a big lioness-cat,
she tears you into many bloody parts,
just like that.

The Society’s Guide to Being a Man, 101.

The only way to be a man
is to not be human.
Don’t cry;
be sad, but don’t say why.
Don’t feel;
hurting someone is the best way to heal.
Don’t express yourself when you do feel,
and if you must,
do it with clenched fists.

The only way to be seen as strong
is to insist that you’re never wrong,
and if a woman isn’t under
your absolute control,
you can’t be a man on your own-
you can’t possibly be whole.

The Earth’s Struggles

We have the colour of the earth,
but we are treated like aliens here.
Those who don’t have the colour of heaven
need to struggle harder than others
to get ‘heaven on earth’.

Everyone lives on earth,
on what it creates, what it supports,
what it gives, the harvest it brings,
but it gets trampled on anyway,
and so do we.

Defective Heart

I was born with a broken heart,
and no one can care for me
or love me enough.
If they don’t care for me
or love me for a day,
I’ll go back to being paranoid and hurt,
and I’ll be much worse than I was
before they came into my life.

No light is bright enough for my darkness;
nobody’s trust can make me totally fearless.
No love is compatible enough with my heart;
no brush is good enough for my art.
No air is fresh enough for my lungs;
no drums are good enough for my songs.

I must learn.
I must learn how to love myself.
No one’ll ever love me more
than myself.
No one’ll ever love my self more
than me.

Unre-QUIT-ed II

Staying with someone who doesn’t love you because you love them.
Being okay with it because you think you have them, at least, but you don’t.

You have him or her but they’re not yours. You can touch them and pet them and feed them and kiss them but they’re not yours. All those things won’t make them yours. You know that quite well but you wish you didn’t. 

For some reason, for love reasons, holding on seems a lot easier than letting go. You know you’re treading on a futile, wrong path, but you’re not stopping. You’re lost. You have to stop and turn back. You can’t find the right path if you don’t stop.

It’s hard. It’s hard to quit this unrequited love…