Sometimes the pack collapses and it takes a while to assemble
The men finally did something else, something entirely different from using women as shields and blaming them for the stray bullets. Not only the men though, the women came too.
As if they’d ever let men save themselves without contributing even a thought of goodwill. Women are built that way, constantly making themselves look stupid with their random acts of sacrifice.
Maybe the bad day’s turned me into a dragon.
I like to believe there’s something wrong with me. A rottenness that is subject to time and change in the weather. Just a mild malady like the old times would claim.
As usual in my habit of never shying away from acceptance. I wholeheartedly acknowledge this fault with my humanity instead of patching the cracks with verses of trashy self-affirmation lines.
It’s a flaw that sets off once and twice in the middle of things coming together. And today i just upped and left, and it felt so good. Maybe I owe people an apology, maybe I do not with the pride of every bad character.
And I tried so hard to not break down. At the bus stop where I quarrelled with that taxi man, all those insults and ill-timed hisses were an accumulation of the last strength in me. I would have passed out or something if the man had continued.
I was tired and filled with so much bitterness that I could taste it in my mouth.
I’m never over it. The feeling that this detachment from everything would increase my level of self-reliance. I still want to smash things and blame everyone for leaving.
Needy lil bastard like self chastisement is the best thing it hears.
Tonight they are all back. Tomorrow the need to disappear might be gone though, along with the rest. I hope. This moment scares me.
They say being queer in Nigeria the good way is by totally extracting yourself from what bothers everyone, by putting a single rainbow and not saying too much about anything, by disappearing for days and reappearing feeling like such assholery is justifiable.
I’m an asshole in the worst place on earth, my head. The police and their guns still scare the shit out of me and it’s not like I like them.
I still can’t bring myself to ask a neighbour why she’s sniffling. Manipulative people who confuse your spirit of discernment deserve all they’ve got coming. Stew and boil in your exploitation.
There’s something wrong with me besides the anger. Maybe I’m broken and stuck on pushing for doors in cold-stone walls beyond reason.
I want the end with the tears and the fvck you note.
“fvck you twice if you ever say anything nice about me when I die. Fvck Nigerian men even if they say or do not say anything.”
No love given, none taken. Keep what’s yours and I’ll mine.