Me against the world

I’ve grown tired and weary of this endless tussle.
This madness over traded notes, titles and roles.
I’ve shrunk from the expectations you heaved on top of me,
blocking your senses to all but the reals you wish to hear.
You are the world stage guised as heaven and I expect too much so you plunder at will.
While I demand goals just to feel satisfied,
you expect a cut of dreamy wonders in return.
I’m your circus master and you are my weekend acts,
yet I leave my quarters open to you and wallow in your cage for life.
My heart and a troubled mind are my weaknesses and your slave.
You are Gaia and I am man,
You can judge and I will act.
You will watch me become my own executioner,
live away the pain of my empty existence,
never numb of my nostalgia.

A traveller’s thoughts…

We were born for this journey.
Call it a blind tourney.
Where we’re raised to pasture,
given a misguided purpose.
“Find yourself” they tell us,
they give us that zeal so we psyche ourselves up.
Practice for 9 years and find ourselves in 3more, then decide after another 4 to live 5 aimless decades of marooned delusion that,
adds up to surpass our number.
Along our merry way under a tick tock time lap,
we practice faith to cure our phobia and battle loneliness with absolute culture,
Mingling among some lost travelers who never read of Gulliver.
We grow up to be,
Men lost in testosterone driven myopia in a weak alpha society.
Women with dry hump craving,
jealous of another strong man’s freedom,
trapping him with guilt and male feminine domination.
Its such a vicious cycle,
an endless catch and release phase in a one fish pond.
Good ole society calls it the best sort of living,
an easy limit for the hitchhikers with short vision.
Its a worthless journey,
I say.
Letting the present pass us by,
fortune cookies and sooth sayers bring us joy.
Google quotes as statuses we treat as hope,
then forget we ever spoke them.
If only along the line, any man walking with the divine saves us,
let him teach us by the god’s mandate,
to live and see before we follow.
Maybe then,
Our journey home to heaven would not be another handout,
a checkout from a library called
The Journey wrong.
A traveller’s thoughts.

Men are…


We are dirt bags behind fake purses,                                                                                                    held in high praise by misplaced orientation.                                                                                         A specie on an undeserved pedestals,                                                                                             society’s disappointment to the male generation.                                                                            We are men with little substance,                                                                                                          still enforcing 50’s standards,                                                                                                                    trained by phallic ancestors,                                                                                                                  who stuck with yesteryear goals like they were a dogma.                                                            While we are scum before Gaya,                                                                                                       undeserving of our titles.                                                                                                                           We wear tiny accomplishments like medals,                                                                                           our strength and wisdom but tattered badges.                                                                                         Heavy burdens forced on broad shoulders                                                                                             mostly built for show and tell.                                                                                                                   All brawn and might,                                                                                                                                we’re mostly good as low achievers,                                                                                                Mediocrity is our foundation,                                                                                                                       so we build small rooms with low ceilings to reach up to,                                                                   forgetting a skylight for our dreams to escape to.                                                                                 If by some miracle a loner in the lot tries to find a way out,                                                            he’s got friends with beer bottles and friends who’re beer bottles,                                     calling for him to come take giant sips before he steps out,                                                                before leading him groggily to the next room,                                                                                       to grab and grope in the darkness for warm logs.                                                                                  We’re men alright                                                                                                                                           and once we get older we get worse and scare easy,                                                                         two decades closer to death’s cold sofa,                                                                                                 we let ourselves go without a once over.                                                                                               The angels who look up to us in wonder,                                                                                                 will bow their heads after they see failure at that time.                                                                    And lips that call us heroes,                                                                                                                          hearts that seek solace in our arms,                                                                                                      will become colder and dirtier in time when we turn abandoner.                                                Bailing because we get too old and cant stand the responsibilities ahead                               that seem to be worse choices than seventy and Hades


Here’s to a better year.

So far I’ve had a lively 2016. Four days in and I’ve already had my fair share of outbursts, excitement and failures. I don’t want to go into it all, some things should just be swept under the rug.

Anyway four days in, and already there are a lot of things I have to do. I never made any resolutions for the new year, it would be a complete waste because for someone with my interests its amazing how much info I can forget in a short amount of time. All I remember is that on that last day of 2015, during the evening service that was to usher in the new year I felt I had let myself down immensely. I’ve always fancied myself as a lazy critic perfectionist of sorts, and I have genuinely accepted this not so good fact about myself. Still as I stood there, repeating the Godly resolution on the big screen at the stadium that night I realized I was just dragging myself like the rest of the people around me. I remember waking up the next morning feeling this sense of emptiness surrounding me. That prayer must have hit a nerve because I was slowly coming to terms with the fact that I had achieved very little in my life apart from being in university. I am a writer and a poet in my mind but I haven’t written that one perfect poem. Reading other good poetry and seeing works that I felt were way better than mine was doing little to make me feel good about myself and I felt genuinely angry. I had a reason to hate myself. Then after, having to realize that I now have little value to those who have great expectations of me because of the way I’m going made me feel shitty.

It slowly dawned on me, I haven’t fashioned myself into the perfect gentleman, the perfect student, the perfect son, the perfect boyfriend. I hadn’t completed a lot of goals, hell I didn’t even goals and expectations nor had I ever thought about a lot of things I do deeply to rationalize them. I’d gotten used to my life always being so rosy and things being done for me I had never taken it upon myself to be strong. So for the past four days I felt the backlash of my actions and thoughts in various ways.

Now whether good or bad, I’ve made it this far these past four days. And I will categorically state for all those close to me that I AM NOT not going to create some corny list, chalked full of expectations I know I will forget. I have just one goal for this year. Its not to have another 2015. It was awful for me. It has scarred me for life, the wisdom and knowledge I always prayed for throughout that year plastered painfully all over my aching body. I just don’t want to have a repeat of a failure of a year like that one or the previous years which were just as horrible and worth forgetting. The good times aside, they did not complement me in any way. I did not do anything with them and at twenty I don’t think I have the time to wait another ten year for proper facial hair and change. I will have a better year, the best year. I’m not saying am going to be cracking my skull and hitting the books or something like that off the bat, I credit the Nigerians I school with for giving me that first taste of envy that made me want to go that way. No. This year will be better, will push me towards much more. I’m not going to feign contempt and blame God, nor am I going to whine too much, only just enough maybe. I’m not gonna stop watching Sherlock or my favorite anime, nor am I going to start trekking to my nearest library just because I think I need better grades, it would be an insult to the library and myself to carry my notes and pdf folders there and read when there are a whole bunch of equally interesting and useless books I can indulge myself in and be a better human being. 2016 just has to be better, it has to be, for the critic, the loner and the perfectionist in me. I’m going to have it that way, period.

Starting with this blog.

Thank You Hornsby.