I remember sharing a piece about the Africa we so desire. Little did I know that in exactly a year from then, unarmed civilians would be slaughtered like rats to a mouse trap. I was told of all the wrongs they did in textbooks; the human sacrifices and brutalities. The bloodsheds and the gun downs, I was told that massacre equals power and that is the only way to silence the weak. “It’s quicker than reasoning!” they say.. That could have been me. That could have been my brother. That could have been me. That could have been my sister, shot in cold blood yet unarmed. Once we stood head high, chest out, singing to a flag held in pride, with words written in tar and toil. Now we stand near these same flags faced down, wounded, and ashamed of who we have become. Of what we have become. These are the monsters we made! I lost a friend to this fight. He left an unborn child to a bullet. Wished the bullet had waited two more months so he could hear the first cry of his son, Olamide. He h...
Don't break my wings when I fly, my Love Don't dampen my Spirit when I'm shiny either. Let me be who I am becoming Let me face my own demons So I can say, That I too was the hero in my story. If only you knew how hard it was to dream. Heavy on gravity, low on brevity, If only you knew how hard it was to see. You'd wax my wings cold And inquire about my untitled conquests. About how my scars played Keteke on my guttered back And my sentences, becoming meaningless when I stammered. If only you knew how hard it was for me to speak. You'd thread my words with a thumb of thimble, And knit carefully between each cotton syllable Till they sounded purposeful. If only you knew.. You'd allow me become.