I want to write but time won’t permit me
I want to talk but strength will give me away
For the umpteenth time, I want to talk about my experiences and the surprises life has thrown me
I think I’ll talk for I’ve kept it in for too long.
I’m in a new environment but not totally new, at least it’s not like the city of Lagos was to young Chike on his first holdiay
This environment is familiar but it feels strange, just like the land of Dubai is to a struggling black
Here is near home but it’s like a solitary confinement, the type they keep stubborn inmates in.
The people I love are far from me
They think I’m far because of my feat
Little do they know that I have shaking feet and I don’t feel I’m fit in this place my feat has brought me to.
They say I’m smart, they keep blowing my trumpet, if only they know I’ve long lost my tune
The hype still comes from all corners
But then, maybe the hype is true; maybe I’m smart, maybe I just feel less of what I’m because of this place my feat has brought me to
I want to be reassured, I want to be counselled
I need no council to talk to me, I just need someone who’ll look beyond the hype and hear me out
But people don’t believe I need their counsel
They say, “Goddammit, she’s a badass counsellor!” they don’t know that even counsellors need to be counselled.
I think I’ll drop my pen now ever since I picked it by ten
Oops! I just realized my story doesn’t even have a title, I hope you’ll help me with a suitable one
This is no fiction, I hope you don’t see it as one
It’s just an outburst of what this girl has been keeping in and what you don’t know
What you don’t know majorly because you don’t want to know.