The Lady and the Seer

PicMonkey Collage

A lady went to a seer to talk about the one she loved, whom she wasn’t with anymore. She said to the seer, “I miss him. I wonder if he misses me. I wonder if he’s coming back. I’m so depressed, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

The seer said “okay”, and looked away. Of course, that wasn’t a satisfactory response for the lady. 

She said “I miss him” and “I wonder if he’s coming back” again, hoping to get some sympathy, and maybe some insight into what the future held for her.

Then he replied, “I’m sure you do, I’m sure you wonder”.

“Well, do you have any advice for me?”, she said, after two minutes had passed, two heavy minutes that felt like 30.

“I don’t have any”, he said. “You choose to miss him, so allow yourself to miss him. Be true to yourself.” The he adds, “but ask yourself, how long are you going to do this for?”

She broke into tears, and he took a step back. 

“Who is in charge of you?” Who controls what happens up there?”, he asked, pointing to his head. 

“I do”, she replied.

“Who is in charge of your mind, your body, your self? Of course, missing him and letting yourself be miserable is what you’re choosing to do, what do you expect me to do, become you? Do you think I have any power over you? Do you think of yourself as a robot that has to be controlled by someone else to survive/function?”

She stopped crying and wiped her tears.

“If you want to choose to miss him, miss him. If you want to choose to be in denial, and wait for something that isn’t coming, wait. If you want to choose to move on and do something good with yourself, do it. It’s not my business or problem. You’re choosing to do something and asking me to help you stop. Ultimately, you get to choose whether or not you want to suffer, and if suffering is what you have chosen to do for this long, so be it. You’re a wonderful soul; don’t be so dense. Healing is a choice- choose it.”

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Chiron-ke

Yusuf Grillo

Painted by Yusuf Grillo

I want love.
I ask for love,
but when Mother Earth offers it to me,
I shake my head from side to side.

You may think of me as a child,
and you may think of me as a pregnant lady,
but I see myself as pregnant,
not as a child who does not
know what they are doing.

I am in pain.
I am pregnant.
I bear and carry my hurt
like an unborn child
in my heart’s womb.

No one can deliver this child;
no one except me.
No one but me
can deliver my self,
but I don’t know how to,
or is it that I don’t want to?

I can’t.  

I’m a pregnant midwife
who delivers people’s pain-children
but walks around with her own
still-born still in her.

No one but me
can deliver my self,
but I don’t know how,
or is it that I don’t want to?

I can’t. 

You may think of me as a child,
and you may think of me as a pregnant lady,
but I’d prefer it if you
do not think of me at all.

 

Love and Life

Little-Yachtsman

“Little Yachtsman” by Amanda Jackson

He cannot be the love of your life
if what he has is the love of your life,
not the love of you.
He praises you because you have this,
and you can do that,
but those things removed,
he wouldn’t know what to do with you;
you would have no use to him.

Stages of Life

Arodan Image

Things do not end
because they weren’t meant to be,
but because they were.
Predestined,
planned,
timed,
like a stage play,
to be seen,
to be experienced,
to be felt,
to be learnt from.

As soon as the play is done,
and the end begins,
actors should take front-row seats
and watch their own work-
what they could have done better,
what they should do and not do
in the next play,
as opposed to regretting
that they took part in it
in the first place,
as awkward as it may seem,
as much as it may hurt.

You Make Wings Fly

Freedom

“Freedom” by Tabetha Landt

Wings don’t make you fly;
they’re useless without the mind.
Wings need you to fly.
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JHR

Love: Wings and Legs

Collete Miller.png

Painted by Collete Miller

Love gives you wings, 
but when the wings are abruptly taken away, 
your legs are yanked off too.

Love, after it is withdrawn,
leaves you somewhat paralyzed.

And so,
first,
you have to grow a new pair of legs-
the process hurts like a “modafocka”.

Then you develop an irrational fear of wings,
which is funny,
but also sad.

Grand Illusion

CHOC.jpg

Love is simply a
chocolate-covered almond-
a grand illusion.

Not One to be Fucked With

I am an ant hill.
I like to let you crush me
so I can laugh last.

H-A-P-P-WHY?

YemayaI was about 9 when my family was visited by armed robbers. I am going to leave a lot of details out, which is unlike me, but some memories never completely fade. The day after was one of the unhappiest and scariest days of my life, naturally, I suppose. 

I didn’t want to go to school, but my parents wanted me and my siblings out of the house, not just because there was too much going on in the neighbourhood, but because only sickness and death could save you from not going to school in my home. Even if someone was fatally ill or they died the day before, as long as it wasn’t you, you were expected to be in school the next day, no compromise. 

I remember that I was matching back to my class that morning- the morning after the attack- singing “WE ARE H-A-P-P-Y” back to class, on top of my lungs.

“We are h-a-p-p-y,
we are h-a-p-p-y,
we know we are,
we are SURE we are [sure? wtf?],
we are h-a-p-p-y,
happy!”

I wasn’t singing it on top of my lungs because I was excited, I was, because I was extremely livid- angry about many things. I wasn’t happy, I didn’t know if the person in front of me or behind me, all of us in matching uniforms, tiny, little juveniles, were happy, but I had to sing it anyway, to avoid being picked on or flogged.

I’m going to leave the name of the school that I was attending at that time out. The whole system itself is messed up; it’s not about one school.

Why would you flog a child for wearing old socks, or pick on a child for not bringing food during the end-of-the-year party? You don’t know the condition that the child is living in, you don’t know the trauma that the child is going through, you don’t know anything. Flogging a child because their school fee has not been paid is even the most fucked-up of all.

Now that you have flogged me- 15 strokes, have I vomited the 15 000 naira for the term? Ehn? You have not only completely embarrassed and abused me, you have injured my self-esteem a little, or a lot. 

I’ll stop here. I cry “ugly”, and I don’t want to shed tears where I am. I just STILL feel sorry for many of the children that I met when I was their age, and the millions that I didn’t get to meet.

As far as education is concerned in Nigeria, many things have to be corrected. Many things. 

I Don’t Make Law-ve

D6

I don’t want wings
that’ll just look good on me;
I’ll only wear wings
if they let me fly.

I don’t want wings
that’ll just put eyes on me;
I’d rather die twice
than live a lie.