The Matrimony

She was as beautiful as they come 

In love with the finer things 
He was pleasing to the eyes 
Intelluctually promising 

Constantly in need of a knight 
To save her from herself 
Seldom in need of a woman 
Sufficient in himself 
Moving from arms to arms 
Fluidly without thought  
Moving from book to ward
Wanting not needing 
Tired of games
Ready for The One 
A break from the knife 
Ready to settle down 
Well on in years 
Pressure looming 
A bit on in years 
Patriarchial benefits-pressure still afar off 
A clash of worlds 
Of different seasons 
Without well thought out 
Rhyme or reason 
Of two people though so different 
With similar childhood stories of mild dysfunction
 
One of abuse and little tales of hunger
One of death and the marriage after  
 
One longing, one detached
Joined together in a glorious mismatch 

She in need latched on like a leech 
In need of one to share dreams with 

He a self sufficient beast 
Carried on the fulfilment of his

She in constant need of an opinion
He merely informing her of his decisions 

She supporting and giving of herself 
His words as sharp as a butchers knife 

Nobody’s fault how it all played out 
Two people loving how they only knew how

As the years went by 
As both grew old

God made the biggest joke ever told 
And gave children strange as they come 

To matrimony 
With dark humour already wrought.


A parody of Nuts

It was a hot sunny afternoon, Miss Nuts held her law school application forms in her hand…contemplating how much of a pot of beans this life was and how she’d give anything to not have to fill out the forms. 

She joined the cab queue in her school for cabs that’d take her and as many students as the cab could seat to the destinations of their choice on the school campus. Miss Nuts was headed to the school gate, so she could leave school and walk the few metres to her off-campus ‘apartment’. 
Lost in thought, Miss Nuts failed to notice the cab in front of her was already full. She turned round to notice the impatient students at her back her filling up the two cabs behind her, making her look like she was ‘slow’.  
She walked backwards to close up the space left by the impatient students  as Mr Napoleon, a stranger to Miss Nuts thought it best to take up the non-existent role of Head of Cab Line Administrations and ignorantly alert Miss Nuts of the existence of a cab queue. Before we continue our little story, we will need to bear in mind the following points- 
1. Mr Napoleon told Miss Nuts there was a cab queue…he did not ask if she was on it. 
2. This statment was made rather rudely as the  ensuing bruhaha could have been averted if the statement was posed as a polite question.   
3. Mr Napoleon bore the aura of what Nigerian people would call “I-too-know”; those people who would take out the time to write and submit the names of noise-makers in secondary school and then proceed to submit said lists although nobody asked.  
4. Mr Napoleon was rather short, about Miss Nuts height, meaning him highly susceptible to the famous napoleonic complex.  
Back to our story, as soon as Mr Napoleon fulfilled the duties of his self-appointed office by uttering the words ‘We are on a queue’, fagged out, famished and annoyed Miss Nuts replied calmly ‘Are you blind?’. On a normal day, Miss Nuts would not have said a thing and would have left a bewildered Mr Napoleon looking on as she dusted off his foolishness without even a slight acknowledgment of his presence while other observant people on the queue would have alerted him of her legitimate spot on the queue; but unfortunately, this was not a normal day. 
The words had left her mouth without being processed by her brain which was probably fried by the hot sun. 
Mr Napoleon was furious and his jaw trembled from his apparent anger. 
The next few moments went by in a blur and before Miss Nuts could say “nutcase”, Mr Napoleon blurted out the words ‘ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU’RE TELLING ME AM I BLIND, ARE YOU MAD?’  
Miss Nuts was not used to such displays of streetness laced with bad grammar, in her direction anyway.  
A female onlooker sensed trouble and stepped in between them to prevent Miss Nuts face from getting bashed in while she calmly said a few words to explain the reason for her question. 
Seeing as Mr Napoleon was a mad dog who was only bent on displaying his false masculinity, and one who was hell-bent on slapping her to further establish the fact that he was raised under a bridge in a Lagos slum by street urchins who could not differentiate between the sexes of the human race, Miss Nuts instinctively made her way into the waiting cab. Mr Napoleon got in the same cab.
Mr Napoleon was not done, he kept on shouting and thus attracting the attention of the driver and other passengers in the cab to the fact that Miss Nuts had asked him if he was blind. The driver and a man in the passengers seat advised him to exercise self control ‘as a man’ without asking Miss Nuts for her side of the story. 
Mr Napoleon switched to Yoruba (because english was certainly not enough to declare the extent of his stupidity and faulty chauvinistic mindset) to tell Miss Nuts about how she was lucky God had saved her from his slap. At this point Miss Nuts was quiet because continuously engaging a mad man in conversation can only be to a person’s detriment. 

Miss Nuts said a few words in her defence (including the fact that his statement was made menacingly) and told Mr Napoleon that her question was just a question, and he could go beat up his wife or girlfriend. Mr Napoleon reiterated that he’d never say something like that to his wife. because his wife would not ask him if he was blind (lol, this we all know is grossly untrue, because men like Mr Napoleon would beat their wives up even if they were robots that obeyed and worshipped the ground they walk on)

Fearing that this animal in human skin (Mr Napoleon) might do some damage to her pretty face or in his rage pour acid on her  (if he had any, which was highly unlikely), Miss Nuts plugged her earphones in while Mr Imbecile rattled away. She spoke no words and as she alighted the vehicle at the gate and walked to the safety of her ‘apartment’, she also looked through the side of her eyes to see if Mr Imbecile-Crazy person-halved-brain-and-invariably-short-dicked-mofo would try to sucker punch her. 

The adrenaline rush lasted till she got to her room. She thought about every thing that had happened. Although she brandished a tough demeanour (but cute face) she was also a scaredy-cat by a many standards. 

She played her music on the loudest volume while she tried to calm down. 
After exploring the possibility of her verbal  but almost physical attacker seeking her out for his personal vendetta, and crossing out the possibilities, she continued with her day; and concluded that she needed to watch her mouth. 

THE END.  

Emotional independence?

I’ve gotten to the point in my life where i feel i don’t really need anyone, apart from family…i’ll always need family. When I say need anyone, i mean in THAT sense. 

The only times when i feel i do are those times everyone has when you wish you had someone to tell about your day or need to cuddle or whatever; but all that goes away as quickly as it comes. 
This feeling dies even quicker when i try to open up (just a bit) and then nobody seems to understand. 
I’ve gotten to the point where i feel weird whenever i “talk too much” about the stuff no one should feel weird about though there’s still some pretty “dark” stuff i’ve never told anyone and will definitely die happily taking to my grave. 
It first started out with no intention to be this way and then more and more, as i realised there was practically no one on earth who understood me or who could at least “help”, i grew more and more comfortable with being alone. 
It scares me sometimes especially when i’m handling stuff alone i think…is this even normal? I cry with myself, laugh with/at myself (more of the former, lol), fall and pick myself off the ground. 
I’m well accustomed to reprimanding myself every time either myself or i let one of our secrets out…like when i tell somevody something that i felt should be some sort of secret (some sort of because the serious stuff hasn’t been told to a soul…only person i plan to trust with that stuff is whoever puts a ring on the finger…mostly because that’ll be a tad proof that i’m loved way too much to be discarded over whatever “drama” i’m bringing to the table; said person shall be blinded, smitten and utterly lovestruck…too much to escape 😈). 
I have friends but it’s quite weird because i can live without them…i actually can not think of anyone in my life apart from family that i consider indispensable and that’s where i think most of my problems lie. 
I’m not proud of this because being the “best friend” of yourself definitely has its disadvantages…like stumbling on someone’s insta page and thinking “why did me and such-and-such ever stop talking?” Then you remind yourseld of the time such-and-such was calling for a while and trying to keep in touch. What did YOU do? Zilch. 
As i’m my own therapist and confidante i’ve come up with a couple of reasons for why i’m such a self sufficient island. I really don’t want to list them..but they’re in my head somewhere. 
 Lol i’m not really that alone…God’s there but apart from that there’s really no one i could talk to with the deep stuff. 
That’s one of my reasons for having this blog…and although it helps i’m still not comfortable sauing the stuff i thought i’d say. 
With time I guess.

Survivor’s guilt

It was a beautiful cross 
In the middle of an open field 
Littered with mines 
Surrounded by mile high metal thorns 
But there was a cross right in the middle 
With beautiful flowers…in every colour 
My only escape
Or maybe not
I could have leapt out into the field, head first
I didn’t want to lose a miserable limb
I wanted to explode into tiny bits of red, brown and pink
For it to all be over
I chose the cross instead, and he tied me to it with my consent
It wasn’t enough, they wanted me dead
I wanted to be dead too. But he didn’t
He knew I was confused and out of options
 
He knew i needed a haven 
Disillusioned from famine and thirst, the smile on my face more hysterical, less genuine 
Only he knew. 
They shot from every side and ran out 
Some ventured into the field and died by their own mines 
One of them had come really close before his right side was blown away. 
He looked at me and spoke through his bloodied teeth. 
“He loves you”.