‘Mama’ series(2)

Tags

fear, love, mama, mamaseries

I didn’t want to look like Ma

…..not in the way she hurts easily or the way she can’t fake her expressions when Da lashes vile words. In those times, my hidden cave was behind the window curtain of our one room abode. The last time Nana(grandma) said i was growing to look like ma in the way her strides gracefully presents her curvy body and the way her lips form into a shy smile when she’s happy. I hate that “shyness”, i wish she would Scream back at Dada like the woman did in the movie i saw last on African Magic.

    Last month was my fifteenth birthday, i think i like that i was born on December 25. The zodiac sign says am a capricorn and i dont take nonsense, not even from Dada. He didnt wish us a “Happy new year” yesterday, i had used that opportunity to tell him i hate him ‘cos i hate pretending and that was the truth.

‘Mama’ series(1)

Tags

fear, love, ma, mama

‘but Ma calls me Mama’

Lies be with held – I can’t say I love you ‘cos you might smirk like Dada did when Ma confessed that and i will never show you how much I love you ‘cos i’ll be skittering ’round like a slave Ma has become beneath Dada.

Take me home [1]

Tags

fiction, home, short story, smoking, writing

“God, God, God” I muttered through sniffles and hiccups against the tears pooling down my cheeks, squeezing my shirt against my chest as if it would stop the throb in my heart,  I was breaking.

“I want my life back” I was whispering as I scratched my nails against the wall facing my bed. 

” please” my voice sounded like waves of oceans against a swimmer, heavy with pains and soft with a Hunger to turn the tides. I wanted to scream it out and in a twinkle of a star,  my voice was hitting my brains as it forces through the built-up lump in my throat “God! God!  God! Goooooood!  I want my liiiiife baaaack” my visions became blurry as memories hit me. It started with a gentle kiss to the tip of the rolled paper, then he lit it at the end for me. 

smoking is nothing, even the white man smokes he bielded while I took my first drag, then second then daily I was taking more drags than I could control.  I loved watching how the smoke would ride in the air before vanishing into it’s thinness. He was right, smoking wasn’t bad ‘cos I was still getting the best grades in my department but that was before he drilled through my hymen when the weed highness had taken over me.

 I’ll teach you love through the dark-reddish gateway between your lean fairy thighs. he whispered with caressing fingers on my shoulder as if to ease the stinging pain between my legs and again he was right,  in less than three months, all I wanted was his way of loving me – the roughly gentle way he pleasures my body with unending whispers. At this time,  I was already sinking with my grades and even the mirror could no more reflect me – the girl mother groomed me to be, the daughter father was always proud,  the voice that worship the Lord with joy – they all died, burnt and lost in the flames my nostrils often pushed out. 

©this is just a story that popped up in my head tonight, am a lazy writer and really struggling with writer’s block. Thank u for reading.

Tags

age, growing, love, missing, yourself

The moment you start missing you,  it’s a sign that you’ve grown in a particular way….
Sometimes I want to reach out to find who I was but at the brink lies ashes blown gradually away by a soft wind and each and every day I realise that am not the same anymore,  that life has entangled with me in different ways.
I have changed in so many ways I can’t also grasp.

TIMES

Tags

cold, forgiveness, heartbreak, love, times

There’ll be times when you’ll
Yearn to catch a glimpse 
of me but even the hem 
Of my robe will become a 
mirage to you regardless 
Of your faith.

There’ll be moments when
The cold will consume you
And even the furs of your 
coat won’t ever keep you
Warm like I can.

These words were the pledge
Of my mind when summoned
by my intellect; pray that my
My mind would submit to my 
heart that still long for your
Presence.

Escaping the dark

Tags

blame light dark escape smoke regrets

I blame mama for not telling me that I didn’t know everything, that I’d have to learn some lessons on my own.
I blame my brother for not telling me that there are times he’d be gone like a season and will not be there to neither rain nor shine on me.
I wish my sister refused to give me her most cherished dress, for me to understand that the ship will not always sail with my course ‘cos sometimes the sea gets rough.
And yes! I’m angry at the love-filled bosom of my home for hiding the blemishes of the real world on it’s walls, from me.
How fear gripped my heart the first night I saw those flames of smoke ride up from the cigar hanging on my brother’s lips even with the knowledge that damaged are his lungs and might not hold his breath long enough to grow him old.
My eyeballs had bulged out when I woke up at 3am to find my mother drunk and wasted on the kitchen floor and “daddy,? He was gone.
I blame my pastor that only pat my head and spoke of the light only,  he refused to say that without darkness,  light wouldn’t be known.
Here I am, all grown and big only to realise that I’ve got more than a shadow, now am overshadowed by the shadows of my deeds, my mistakes and choices that got my soul crumbling.
Those nights when I cry out my heart in distress behind these walls; these walls that were my only audience when I took pleasures in my own flesh with my own hands.
Even outside these walls, my conscience mirrored my guilts;  guilts from the time
I lifted what belongs to him and her!
When I grinded the groins to get a pay!
When I killed under the pretense of defense!
When I watched my wrist bleed from my cuts!

But I’m glad Grandma always say

Child ,  there’s  a path lit up after the dark roads, but you chooses whether to stay in the dark cozy corners of life or you walk towards the light

“

Growing out

Tags

broken, flower, garden, growing, love, poem, rise

“If you’ve never being broken, you wouldn’t know what it is to be healed”

   

  You picked me up as a bright, beautiful and glowing flower;
With the veil of admiration, you pretentiously plucked off my petals;
Stuck the tip of your needle in my stems;
You held me tightly in your arms covering the injuries you’ve imposed, with words savoured with deceits;
Emotionally, you made feel the cuts were self-inflicted;
Still I thought you’d nurture me
but you dropped my remnants
on a dried soil and crushed me with your feet.
Then, I realised I was just another flower in your hand but you were the first to pick me up;
I won’t wait to be picked up again but to your amazement I’ll grow again and turn this desert into a garden;
Even with this bleeding thorns, I’ll be crowned a queen;
one who knows what it is to be trampled on,
One who will rise with a distinctive elegance in the midst of same species.
These new petals will spread out in different colors with no limits.

Inside my world

Tags

girl, reality, truth, world

I was eager for my mother to finish tucking me in bed and leave my room; this was because of what happens outside my window,in The House across our street, every weekends. Was I the only one seeing this or has every one just decided to keep quiet about it but isn’t that unkind? I had these questions running through my head as I watched my mum switched off the light and shut my door. My heart thundered against my chest in trepidation for what I was going to face as I tiptoed to my window, pulled the curtain aside and there it was — Vivian, the twelve years old girl servant in Mr and Mrs Jim’s house was being carried on the shoulder by Jackson, their twenty-five years old son who comes home every weekend. Where he drags her to, I couldn’t really tell but it was always through their back door and something was different tonight The first time I saw this happened, she was kicking and fighting him as he carried her out, I couldn’t tell what he wanted to do to her which made my curiosity got the best of me. I waited for almost thirty minutes when I saw her limping in from the same door and Jack’s body glistening with what seemed like sweat from afar. I went to bed that night arguing with my 15years old brain that she wasn’t being raped and maybe he probably needed her to assist him in their garage or somewhere around their house but every part of my being knew the truth.
Unlike the first time, now she wasn’t fighting…why? Had she given up ?
   Few days later, I was about to discuss Vivian with my mum when she abruptly shut me up with “you’re different from her, her world is different from yours and you have an entirely different life” and that sends a million of messages to me that my parents knew about Vivian. I was about to speak up again when dad came up behind me saying “you’ll be sleeping in the guest room till you return to school”
“No, dad” I looked at my parents in shock . “And mum, Vivian is in my world, she exists in all of our worlds and we can’t watch her suffer Just because she’s a little helping hand to some rich couple?”
   I couldn’t stop thinking about how everyone closed their eyes to the imperfections around them just because their bosom seemed so peaceful and comfortable. For my parents to know the truth about Vivian then every other close neighbors knows about it but their silence is incomprehensible.

There’s alot outside our comfort zone we ought to correct, change and even embrace.

hidden stories