Left Eye was my musical inspiration. I didn’t try to copy her style, but her tough as nails, “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee” style made me rethink my inspirations for my music, writing, and poetry.
Good girl off.
Ready to shrug off hearts
Hand them to you by a string.
I’m finally growing
A young cub
Now a budding lioness
Ready to hunt.
No love-lorn looks
No more pining
I don’t need your fake love,
Your fleeting affections,
Your pitying gazes.
I’ll go it alone
I don’t need a man
To make me be a woman.
Tears running down my face
As I march past.
Forcing away emotions.
Ready to take the bullet
So that someone else can smile.
Biting my tongue,
Biting the bullet,
Biting the dust.
Fighting for others,
Never going to war
To keep what I want.
To the sound of the bomb
Soaring above me
I’m not a very good soldier.
[Song: Chasing the Sun by The Wanted]
They guide my fears
They watch my tear streaks.
For all our problems,
They always want to blame me.
Can’t escape the responsibility.
They never care
As long as they’re not scared, but me.
He doesn’t see others,
He only sees me.
He says that I’m the problem
But never that he hates me.
He claims love,
Yet always discriminates.
The youngest get his love,
The older are too late.
I never wished for much,
But can’t you see me?
Love has always meant so much
I’ll always love you,
As you can see.
But I don’t think you’re good for me.
I love you, Daddy, but I can’t be near you anymore.
I love you family, but I see that I’ll never truly have your support.
I’ll drift along alone, looking for that special one.
And maybe then I will see the real sun.
Ave Atque Vale.
So there I was in church yesterday. The Nigerian Catholic Community was doing a joint mass with the American community of one of the churches I attend.
The choir was a combination of Nigerians and caucasians and so are the songs. And there I was dreading how people might have started insulting my people’s music or saying that it didn’t seem appropriate for church. One of the ladies just turned to me from the choir stand while listening to my mom sing and smiles at me. And I had an epiphany.
Many stereotypes still exist because we expect them to. Black people expect others to downgrade them in society and underestimate their capabilities. They expect to be looked down on, so that inevitably occurs. We expect these circumstances, so we don’t always try to do our best or to overcome racism or stereotyping. Looking at some of my black friends, I think that we’re trying our best to make ourselves what we want to be. But then I look at black kids from other schools: some are doing drugs, others are getting drunk, and others act deplorably.
It makes me so disappointed in us as a race that we teens are acting this way and many parents allow it, yet we get upset when policemen do their duty. Granted, there are some who step out of line and abuse the power given to them. However, many just wish to be upstanding citizens and enforce the law so that others will be, too. I don’t believe that all policemen should be terrorized for the mistakes of the few, especially since we ourselves are doing so little to avoid the incidents from occurring.
It’s parents’ jobs first and foremost to be policemen and to keep their children from committing acts that will get them in trouble with the law. It’s our job as a race to do everything right in order to create racial equality. It’s our job as a people to not complain over our little hardships when others in this same great country suffer more. It’s our jobs to work for what we get and to take responsibility for our mistakes in life. It is not a right to have what we have; it is a privalege and an honor that we must respect.
Before we talk about equality for the people we need to better the quality of the people.
Boredom is a disease.
Zaniness is the cure.
I was listening to the radio today, and one women was commenting on how apalled she was that anyone could call themselves a born again Christian and be Catholic. Now, I’m not sure what others might say about their beliefs, but I’m a Catholic firstly because I was born into it. Secondly because I’m Nigerian and we are intense in our faith. Thirdly, I’m Catholic because God put me in this position. If God tells me to move to a different denomination, I’ll do that. I follow God, not the judgement of man. Furthermore, if you haven’t ever been Catholic, you might not understand all of their doctrines. Granted, I also have my skepticisms, but again, I follow the word and teachings of God. I won’t act on what I don’t believe. However, saying that you’re apalled at Catholics and condemning them doesn’t make you a better person. It makes you about as bad as terrorists who say that if you don’t follow their beliefs, you deserve to die.
I don’t encourage judgemental behavior. I am pretty mellow about others’ beliefs and lifestyles because it’s basically not my place to judge. It’s God’s. Any negative feelings I have for another will affect how people view me and how I view myself. So I won’t encourage something that is against my faith, but, because I don’t know the mind of God, I can’t condemn it either. Since no one can read the mind if God, no one can say what is really wrong or right.
“Don’t dance darling” my mother said
As I shimmied down the store aisle.
“Write when you’re ready” they said
As they ripped the pen and paper from my hands.
All the energy I put in up until this point.
All the sweat, tears, and blood was for them.
Yet they take me for granted.
I love them all, so I protect them the only way I know how-
I push them away.
Far. Far away from.
From all my hurt and tears.
All my broken cupboards masking my fears and pain.
I give them a smile-a laugh-a fake groan
Pretending that it’s okay,that I’m okay.
But I’m not.
I haven’t been for a while now.
But they, you, don’t notice.
My silence speaks a thousand words,
But my screams speak louder.
I scream behind the cupboards.
Are you watching, listening?
Clawing at my throat
Dangling by the chains that I swallowed to hide.
Fear that everything bad thing I imagined will be true.
Fear that every amazing outcome is possible.
Fear of my dreams-my thoughts-my hopes.
So I take that fear
I hide it in a cupboard.
The cupboard is every fake laugh
Every fake smile
Every groan during the during the day
And every illusion during my insomnia nights.
My fears control me.
And that is the only thing that I’ll ever hate.
“I love you.”
Three simple words that lose their value with each passing day.
“I’m in love with you.”
Four words that I long for a guy to say.
“I need you.”
Says that he will cherish me in every way.
“I miss you.”
Saying how much he wants me to stay.
Like one deaf to the world
I wish with all my heart to hear those from the one I love.
Yet, I fear that he is blind to me.