Scribblings Of A Dramatic Introvert

Hi,   I'm trying not to write poems or sad stuff.   It was all jokes when you first tried it. Just another silly habit everyone indulged in, but you were bored so why not try something new. How disappointing it was on first try. Overrated. Crap.  They said it felt like heaven. Some losers said it was their addiction, but you weren’t hitting it.  So you tried it once more, and it definitely got better. Just not on that level you believed it led to. And here, you gave it up. For a couple of years. Scoffing at the helpless addicts.  Could never be me, you pitched confidently. Once a while, you tried it out. No addiction, right in their faces.  The universe must’ve been playing a joke on you. Today, you lay here with tears burning your cheeks. You’ve hit a high thrice today and you just can’t stop. You badly want to, but you know when that voice gets stronger than your willpower, you would give in once more.  Prayers won’t suffice anymore than they on...

XVI I tried to cry in my closet but I couldn't. Five stages of grief and I'm stuck at emptiness. I stopped letting the pictures flood my mind and when your laughter rang in my head, I blocked it out. Whenever your voice echoed in my thoughts, I willed myself to stop. Without thinking I clicked delete to every picture that had your face, every tag. I wanted to move on, so I stopped thinking about you. How you died. Running from a police raid on every young man that so much as looked free-spirited. They said you ran into an incoming motorcycle, yet someway, ended with your head bashed against the tyres of a truck. Or crushed, was it? I didn't want to think about the fact I wasn't thinking about you, so I stopped that too. Today makes it a long time since you left. I swear I forgot the date of that Sunday. June? It was a Sunday, because we'd gone to church together, and then later at night you offere...

"My memory of her is probably the most clear from that year," she told me. "She had talon fingernails- red; It wasn't pretty." She drew a long breath, eyeing the vase that held my tulips in the centre of the glass table between us, as it contemplating whether to continue. I was about to suggest starting from something she felt more comfortable discussing rather than her memories from 2005, when she continued, "I was just six, but I knew it was slutty, especially her riding miniskirt. No lady should wear that and sit LIKE THAT. She had the hair too. You know, and the lipgloss- that shimmering red one. Her eyelids was painted like those girls they said were bad for marriage- I mean, it was 2005." "She was always sitting in front of my dad's car on those afternoons. We sat behind. Quiet. My mom taught us that; being quiet." She added, smiling. "Dad told us she was his sales assistant's wife. I believed him. I believed everythi...

She's a little old lady that attends my local church; Probably a septuagenarian. Her back is stooped low all the time. Nor does she dance much during Thanksgiving, Odd comfort to me as I am a mess on the dance floor (Nothing near a hot mess, just mess mess). Hers is probably due to arthritis. She's quiet; Not usual for women her age that attend my local church. She doesn't yell at little kids who just want to run and play after the service is over, Nor does she give "life hacks" to young mothers, trying to remind them of how "wrong" they are in raising their children. (Owwwww, you know nothing! The big old lady usually told eager mothers before she began lessons on how to choke a kid in the bid to force-feed). Ìyá ìjèṣà sometimes sleeps during the sermon (a lot of times is sometimes)- It's in English and I've never heard her speak the language. You see, she carries a Yoruba bible and asks a literate to write down the sermon...

First base: I tried not to take too much in all at once, Getting in way over my head, Letting you under my skin. Slowly you possessed me, And took me high as I stayed drawing warmth from your voice. The second: I tried. I told myself I had my acts together. I did, At first, But the weeks rolled by, Holding me, you got me through each flight higher. When you let go of my hands I found myself hitting rock bottom. It was then you taught me what second base felt like. I learnt to laugh in your presence, Forgetting the shame I had learnt to attribute to how my giggles made a deep throaty sound. Your fingers brushed my lips, And I knew your lips were close too So I shut my eyes and took you in. That was hallucinogenic; You literally took my breath away. Somedays I detox off you, Other times, I just slipped under your spell. Whenever I raised my head from below the waters, Your hand was there to cup my face; Fingertips brushing hair locks from my eyelids. That was third base. Then I lo...

Day 825 Your eyes; Squinting when you laugh hard under streams of sunlight, Lips muttering simple words my auditory cortices learnt to take as music. Your opinions get me nodding in agreement through and through. I put up squabbles, yet all it takes is you taking my hand in yours to make it all subjective. You are a whole religion. Your bubbly laughter in the nighttime, near intoxicating; Ricocheting through walls and leaving me lifelong memories. Your chuckles do more than just sit up in my cerebral cortices. They’ve made a rhythm of you, To which my feet have learnt to dance without inhibitions. Dúró tì mí A prayer I often offer, Even when the odds go against us, And I have to wade off side-talks about you. When everyone seems to pitch in one nasty comment or the other the minute you're out of sight. Constant reminders that I've lost myself, But they forget to note that I'd rather spend what is left of my lifetime gazing at you, Than embark on...

"Rather than fix it, I pulled down a hundred more veils." That's what I told him, I believe. What use is it to make yourself vulnerable, When you'd call more attention to your darkness? To what end do your intentions matter? Maybe if I stood behind a veil, I'd be left alone I made myself believe Another compromise Yet somehow a few managed to hold my gaze through this hypothetical veil "Let me fix you," some offered, hunger in their eyes Others(If this passes for everyone, all of them) weren't so keen "You're fucked up," they said; literally. So rather than be sulky I'm throwing it in My laughs would be louder And my paranoia top notch My indifference would be projected more clearly Let alone, I'd be just as I am Maybe there's no veil any longer This is me Unveiled Naked.