MY TRUTH #Lies #Truth #Poetry

Not too long now
I will start to believe my own lies

Told myself certain truths
But those I did not want to hear
I kept to myself
Buried them deep inside myself

Told myself it is ok
To fake a smile
It is manly
To stifle a cry

Remind myself that real men
The realest of them
Have no need for affections
That one is for the little boy down the lane
Long forgotten

Denying myself a chance
To listen to anyone
People lie
It is what they are best at
I have nothing true
To find in their words

Doubting every act of goodness
They show love, only to whom they need from
Love is a one-sided business
I will always loss more than I gain
So why take the risk?

Maybe these all
Are lies I keep telling myself
But gradually and surely,

They are becoming my truth.




As I sink a little deeper into a hole
This hole that will soon become my home
I can’t help but think about you
Precisely, where you are at the moment

As I start to loathe my own soul
Blaming, day and night, my mind
For the huge bag of pain
You drag around all day
As well as the sorrowful tears
You wake late at night to shed
I can’t help but dread
What it must feel like
To be you
To live in your skin right now

As I sit under this moon
To throw hard questions at the Man above
Disputing first and vehemently
Why He bothered to create me
Then second and sadly
Why He blessed me abundantly
With the gifts of breaking hearts
With the gifts of ruining lives
I can’t help but wonder
If ever you will heal enough to learn to love again
If ever someday you will feel alright enough
To go a day without cursing my memory


THE STOLEN JEWEL #duet #poetry

A dialogue between the Queen and the Man. Put together by Queen Onyinye and King Johnero

The Queen:

Was it for nought that my swords were bestowed on me by the Grand SwordMaster?
Was it in vain that the twin swords were sharpened by the best blacksmith?
Have they forgotten that my swordsmanship is second to none?
Who is he that dares to steal from my bedchamber?
Have you all forgotten that I command the death of armies without a physical war?


The Man:

We know your skills oh great one
We have heard of your many exploits
In the many wars you fought long before we ever were born
We have seen you conquered grounds
We feared to inhabit
Yet we stole from your bedchamber
But not as an act of defiance
We only got tired of watching you alone
Possess all the many goodness upon the head of your bed
We sought to at least have a little taste
Before our days of mortality are over.


The Queen:

Have I become Hades that men should fear to ask me of things?
When did I become heartless that ye shy away from my presence?
I am alone because you placed me on a pedestal far from human reach,
But never would I have withhold the treasure you so desire if you had the boldness to ask.


The Man:

We do not consider you one as Hades, you are way too majestic
Our fear to ask you for a taste of these treasures is not a fear in itself
We fear to ask you because we fear your response may be a
Your presence they told us was overwhelming
So we were taught to approach you with our eyes facing our feet
Forgive the pedestal we have placed you on
It was built by men older than our minds might dare to remember
We do not know whether or not you like to share your treasures
But they told us the boldest men take, not ask
We stole.


The Queen

The boldest take?
Tis cowards that steal.
The Jewel you stole is no ordinary gemstone,
A curse follows the man who steals it.
An ancient heirloom sculpted on the altars of the Fathers,
Painted with the blood of the Mothers,
Kissed by fire itself.
Tis a terrible thing to steal a heirloom ye know nought of its history.


To be continued………


Now that you are gone
I swear I hate to wake up

My eyes hate to blink up
To emptiness and cold thoughts

My mind is lost in itself
Going in circles
Going insane as it does so

My nose dread the idea
Of breathing in air filled
With nothing but breathtaking memories

My finger tips recall only
The feel of your full lips

Now that you are gone
How can life go on?

The pain my heart feels
Is rivaled only by
The joy your new man feels

What use then is being alive?
What use then is being alright?

The darkness conceals the sight
Of my dying life
So I hold fast unto it
Now that you are gone



Maybe you are just too good

For a man like me

Maybe i fear that i may damage you

So badly that you may find it impossible

To ever love again

Maybe i am afraid to sleep tonight

Because i fear i might wake tomorrow

With the things that would ruin your fragile heart


I want to be the one for you

I want to be worth it

Your innocence, your love

But i am furious at myself


For not being enough right the man

For a girl like you.




Listening to this radio
The song is playing too fast
Too fast to know what it is about
But I catch a line
Or maybe two

It said something about
How much I hurt you
I open my mouth to speak
To promise i won’t do it again
To plead my sins
For ever doing it in the first place

But, this is a radio!
No one apologizes to a radio
No normal person does that,at least
But I have never once fancied myself
So I proceed with my apologies

Perhaps this should have ended
At maybe a simple hello
I am sorry I pushed it past a hug

Perhaps this should have stopped
At a clean friendship
I am sorry I pushed it to a sweaty dirty bedsheet

I am sorry I am letting go of
Perhaps the only thing I am forever holding on to

Because even though you are gone
And we are done
I will tonight enshrine these memories


OUTSIDE CHURCH STREET #Storytelling #Writers

And that was how I lost the five hundred naira.
I was undertaking an errand. I needed to buy a cup of sugar,two hundred naira groundnut and two hundred and fifty naira garri.
Yes! He is a really large man and he eats large too. It comes with the body size.
This was the third time he was going to drink garri today. He had just finished consuming seven wraps of weed at a go. Soaking garri is his own way of pushing it home.

Big Mike doesn’t joke with his weed or the garri that accompanies it thereafter. I am trying to make haste like he had ordered me too.
“You must do as Big Mike commands”, a lesson i had to learn the hard way. I was new to these parts and unlike Church Street, here, you obey the people bigger than you with no objections.
The day after I got here Big Mike called me to send me on an errand and I hestitated, he grabbed me by the throat and pinned me so hard to the wall that the air escaped from my anus. That day I realized there was no place like Church Street and I became really obedient, even unto death.
So, approaching Baba Toyin’s shop, I see them gathered at a corner. “The Righteous Men”, they call them.
They had just recently accepted me as one of them two days ago and until then, I was the new kid on the block no one wanted to talk to. The girls didn’t think I was cool. The boys didn’t want to be counted “not-cool” by rolling with me.
Getting accepted by “The Righteous Men” had changed all that. How can I then pass by, without shaking hands and bumping fists with them. So I moved towards them and did the usual; rituals.
How can I then assume the form of a “wussy” by not sitting with them, even if it is for a little while. So, I sat.
They were rolling dice; gambling. I have never played one of this before, so I observed.
Unlike Church Street, this place needed it people broken in different groups to run smoothly, the realization hits me just as I started to understand the game.
Hillary taps me on the shoulder “you going to roll the dice or not”.
“I will roll” I heard myself reply.
“What are you going to stake” Martins asked.
“My wristwatch, I guess”, I answered.
“But I see a five in your right hand” I see Hillary pointing.
“Damn your sharp eyes and large mouth, boy” I cursed him inwardly.
I tried to say the five hundred naira was Big Mike’s, but almost immediately, my big ego jumped into my mouth stopping my tongue.
So, I dropped the five hundred naira and drew the dice,thrice. And because i was new to this, losing came through, easily like a faithful Uber taxi driver.
I took three steps backwards. I was out of the game and soon, when Big Mike catches me, I shall be out of life.
“I will not die on this strange street” I said to myself as I hit the road.
I must immediately return to Church Street.


The hard part
Is in
Teaching my mind
To forget
The only thing
It remembers,and thinks upon
Every Friday Night

The harder part
Is in
Telling my heart
A lie
Just so it can
Allow my body have some sleep
Every Friday Night

The hardest part
Is in
Technically knowing
That even when
All these starts to feel like some dead distant memories
It will sure,again, feel like
A fresh cut
When I set eyes on you again
Especially on a Friday Night.


TEARS OF ELLA (Ep.18). #Storytelling #Writer #SayNoToChildAbuse

Uncle Tobi threw her on the bed and with extreme violence, began to molest the little girl. This lasted for well over 7Minutes and by the time he was through, there was blood everywhere.

He just stood up and walked out of the room.

Ella could not move. The pain flowed from her soul, outwards. There is no way life should go on after this. There is no way God would allow his own servant do this to a little girl.

She laid there,weeping with her eyes tightly shut. A thousand and one wishes sweeping through her mind. She wished her mum was more around. She wished her dad never died. She wished Uncle Tobi was dead.

Then finally,before sleep snatched her away, she wished that she, Ella, was never born. For then,she would not have known this much pain. For then, she would not have shed so much tears in her very young life.

The End.