Monkey See. Monkey Do (*_*)


She’s battered and bruised, she learned it from you.

That’s what you allowed when she was 2.

They say memory emerges when a child reaches 3,

But he did it so much that it scarred her memory.


And when she turned 4, nothing had changed.

You were just a little better at concealing your shame.

But concealer and blush never hid your bruises,

For some stains remain long after the abuses.


You swore he would never lay a finger on your daughter

But letting him hit you – sacrificed her – lamb to the slaughter.


“Do as I say, not as I do,”

Is not a lesson plan with imbedded value.


And so she grew up as the nightmare unfolded.

You never measuring up and you getting scolded.

First by his harsh words, then by his big fists,

Grabbing your throat and twisting your wrists.


Your skin discoloured, your face swollen,

And your self value shattered when you accepted his tokens.

Gifts wrapped in lies of this being “the last time.”

He’d blame it on the liquor, his job, the wine.


And you knowing full well it would never end,

Deluding yourself as you tried to pretend.

Paralyzed by fear that you could not make it on your own,

You bowed to his beatings, keeping him on the throne.


A coward was your king and his wickedness your sin,

For you were his enabler caving to his every whim.

You told yourself you’d made a vow: With This Ring I Thee Wed

Yet your portion was never a part of that Pledge.


You did not stay because he was rich, although that he was

You stayed because with sustained abuse is an accompanying drug

Love? Fear? A combination of both?

Standing outside looking in, one cannot denote.


But you knew it was wrong

Yet you feared he was strong

Mistaking his violence for a backbone

You let him cast stone after stone.


And then she was 5, 6, and 7

And you thought “every girl should have a dad”

So you told yourself you were staying…

To give her what you had never had.


But raised voices were her lullabies

And your shimmering black eyes her night lights

And as she grew she aged

Wedged between his violence and your fright.


Then she was a teenager and you rationalized

If you didn’t stay he wouldn’t pay for college

And after all –

“You can’t put a price on knowledge.”


So you said you’d “tough it out” a few more years

Truth is you didn’t know how to move past your fears

It is what you had known for 20 odd years

And your eyes couldn’t see without the tears


Just like you wanted she moved out and went to college

Your gorgeous gorgeous girl.

And you patted yourself on the back

Thinking your suffering had gained her the world


But monkey see. Monkey do.

And that’s just what she did.

She found a man like her daddy

And in his arms she hid.


She told him she loved him

Unfortunately he “loved” her more

And every time she showed her lesser love

She was sorry, of that he made sure.


Soon everything she said was wrong

Especially when she was right

She moved in cuz she felt right at home

In the presence of her fright.


This was love she recognized

Turbulent and full of blows

And monkey will not suspect,

What monkey already knows.


But she was not “strong” like you,

And soon she’d had enough,

She never spoke of it though,

Because that’s just how she grew up.


You were so used to hidden emotions,

You couldn’t see the ones right before your eyes,

And so you encouraged her “wonderful catch”

And didn’t not notice her soul withering as it died.


He continuously killed her with his words

And one day she just gave up.

And she slit her own wrists

For where she came from: violence was an acceptable construct


An invisible prison with metal bars

You taught her that it was okay

You taught her she should conceal her pain

You taught her she should stay


Her eyes were swollen like yours

Yet her heart had 20/20 vision

And with her sight she saw

That she could not hope to exist in this prison


In her old house there were no “exit” signs

And this one was much the same

So she retreated inside her head

And thought of what she had to gain –


Existence was nothing but pain,

Love was the most violent of emotions,

And she decided not to remain.


She cut the cords of bondage,

Split them from vein to vein,

And wrists wide open,

She breathlessly called your name.


Your gorgeous gorgeous girl

Peaceful and pale

Concealer on her face

Blush bleeding onto her veil

Strategically placed to hide the bruises

The make-up could not mask

Soon to be lowered into the ground

In a coffin of damask .

You did it all for her,

But u forgot – monkey see monkey do.

And now her lifeless body,

Was doing back onto you.


For violence robs the receiver

And those the receiver loves

And no lies will diminish the echo

Of what staying really does.




My Tomorrow left Yesterday :(

iCan’t write about you. iCan write about anyone else. Cuz everyone else is here to defend themselves.

iCan’t write about you. Because you are far gone. You’ve been here and done this, and left me to mourn.

 I don’t know what to say. The words just don’t come out right. Forever out of mind. Never out of sight.

 iSee you with my eyes closed. Hear you when iDon’t listen. Feel you when I’m dreaming. Wake up to you missing.

I’m trapped in a prison. My emotions have no release. For while you are the catalyst, you’re also the deceased.

Who do I tell what I’m feeling? It doesn’t matter what iSay. So iWhisper it on the inside. Then I pray and I pray.

What happens to a soul departed after it’s risen up? Does it look down and miss what it’s given up?

Or does it just rejoice in the new, embracing what it could never conjure. Forgetting about the reflection of a life, it was living before.

I want the pain to dissipate. But I know it never will. I take comfort in that fact, for I’m holding on still.

The phone battery is dead, the text messages erased. The voice notes expired. Yet tears still cascade down my face.

It hasn’t been that long. It feels like yesterday. Yet it feels like forever, for the whole future is changed.

Our future a construction site, on which the scaffolding has toppled down. And the foundation crumbled, all is rubble scattered on the ground.

Burying your body, trapping my heart, crushing our construct, as your memory departs.

You cannot be forgotten. I hold on to the pain. And give in to its pull, for then I almost feel sane.

“A penny for my thoughts?” How about a yen? The last place you were spotted. Haven’t seen you since then.

Except for every night. When iDream that you lived. And wake up the next morning, feeling like a kid.

But the pain is my present, and it presents the past. The sleep clears from my eyes, reality sets in fast.

Eyes wide shut I no longer see you. So the pain seeps back into my core. I could have sworn you were right here. I pray I dream again tomorrow.

Why would God let me glimpse you, only to take you back? Why would our souls merge, only to have them retract?

There was a point to our encounters, all pointless now. Was there a point to our encounters? I’ll try figure it out somehow.

The strongest emotions course through my veins, rendering me weakest – my crying is in vain.

I’ve typed and backspaced this many a time, but today I’m not erasing what’s always on my mind.

I don’t know why we met, I don’t know why you left, I don’t know why you slept, but I will never forget.

Your eyes are fading from my mind. I don’t know what hurts most? The fact that I can’t see your face or that I’ll always recognize your ghost. You are embedded in my soul, I feel you in my inhale, gone but not forgotten, the (k)night in my fairytale.

Where everything is bliss, until darkness falls, and everything is perfect, until He calls.

And then you go leaving fingerprints on the doorknob, and the door wide open. Allowing darkness to seep in, and ravage my every emotion.

You make me want to live more, you make me want to feel less, I can’t let go of the “what ifs,” I’m lightweight obsessed.

I’ll wish upon the whole sky, even though iKnow nothing will change, yet still every falling star, will bear mention of your name.



*234 days

This IS Not An Ugly Girl Rant

Let me re-iterate: This Is Not An Ugly Girl Rant. This is not one of those “those who cannot do, teach” scenarios either. I simply comment because I feel it is a comment worthy topic. Today on Twitter I was asked if I sing or dance. Similar questions have been asked before. Do I? No. Should you? Probably not. Why? Because these things are not realistic. 

There are two levels of quasi celebrities in existence, both would be better off extinct.

There are those who think by simply existing they are stars and should be treated as such, and there are those who make limp attempts at being yet never quite make it anywhere. Both the former and the latter’s progress is stunted and they never reach their peak as a result. For in order to reach one’s peak, one must first identify and then strive for it; this leaves a lot less time for silly things. Therefore, these two levels of quasi celebrities would be better off extinct. Not so much the individuals, but absolutely their mindsets and motivations.

These quasi celebrities in question are everyday individuals that spend more time on their weaves, funny coloured contacts and nails, enhanced by gallons of make-up and ankle-breaking heels than they do not receiving an education. If you want your fifteen minutes of fame and want to be front-and-center when it comes to the entertainment industry, please realize it takes more than a few bucks worth of fake to achieve that status, and even then it’s a little less than feasible.

We were taught many things in highschool such as Advanced Math and Algebra 2. We were also taught that Chemistry is not for everybody, the fame of scoring goals hardly lasts past the season, girls should wear shapeless clothing always at all times, and the diploma you received does not matter – at all, go and get another one!

And so here we are – a few years down the line – University.

And here, there, and everywhere else individuals venture forth acting like the University Center is a hall of fame in which they are to be recognized and respected. Where they should be worshipped and wanted. It’s not! We don’t come here everyday to see you. No. Not at all. Go to class! Quasi celebrities need keep in mind that there will always be somebody prettier, with a better voice, a smaller waist, a better boob job, and more followers backing her. A man with bigger biceps, a better background, etc. The list goes on.

I’m not saying you are all not gorgeous in your own right or you will not be successful, I just warn that looks are hardly ever enough. Do not bank on what you did not create and can hardly positively enhance. I know and respect individuals in the entertainment industry, some more than others, this memo is not for them.

This memo is for the girls who lurk on the corners of classrooms strutting their stuff, some wearing too much, some barely enough; all with ambitions and dreams bigger and smaller than what they should hope to achieve. Do not drop out of school to become a super model. The girl who sits in front of you is probably thinner. Do not spend your days playing basketball on the streets, dunking into garbage cans, the NBA does not recruit there.

An education is the surest way to ensure success. Even if you do not do anything with your direct degree, you make connections, you sharpen your mind, you keep your repuation safely tucked away in the concrete creation that is higher learning if nothing more. Do not sell yourself short by attempting to sell your physical self. The price of the highest bidder will be too low, and most times your self esteem and self worth will be the first to go.

A pretty face is not a prize, its a cherry on the cake, and we can all do without the cherry. What matters is the content, not the case in which it comes. Models grow fat or die of anorexia, sportsmen get injured or cheat on their wives with 18 other holes – or both, actresses are traded in for younger versions, and everyone is recycled and attacked and stalked and over – and under – appreciated and all of these things probably will be you – if you ever become quite so important in the industry as to experience these “triumphs.”

There are billions of individuals who reside on this planet, too many believing stardom is the easy way out. I’m all for talented individuals joining the rat race and blowing up, I know those who have done so, and those who are attempting to, and I respect that effort in all stages of existence. Keyword: talented.

The defiiniton of a quasi celebrity would be one who is not famous in their own right. Isn’t really much of anything to be honest. More like a local champion. An average sized fish in a small pond such as a university or college whose presence is magnified by the trumpet they blow and by the fact that their “competitors” are too busy competing for valedictorian status and a graudation with honors to pay them any mind.

You are paying, or loaning, or scholarship’ing (probably not if you’re a quasi celebrity) this education, so the least you can do is receive it. Take notes instead of checking your hair every 5 minutes, study instead of sash-aying through the hallways, learn instead of lurking around the basketball court hoping to get scouted and signed.

We also learned in highschool that little miss popular is bottom of the food chain in the big bad world, and therefore I ask that we not rely on the word of our highschool music teacher who said we could sing, our ex boyfriend who said we could dance, or our friends who said we’d look good on tv. Let’s rely on our intellect, our intelligence, our potential that can definitely be honed and enhanced as we further our education.

A higher education is not for everyone, but a degree must be to a degree for you if you are already heel’ing through the halls, so its time to put the brush down and pick up a pen: take some notes, learn something, and chances are your parents and your bank account will thank you for it!

This is not an ugly girl rant. This is the rant of a girl who realizes that :

  • Beauty is fleeting, its definition every changing,
  • There are inherent trade-offs to being “famous,”
  • In order to be wanted you must give much more of yourself than E! shows,
  • Most of us will never make it to that status and futile attempts are a waste of time and reputation
  • You as an individual and the world as a whole will benefit from the realization that serious minded professions can and should be pursued and respected, are more stable, benefit society, and save everybody the time, gag-effect, and eye rolling that occurs when talentless people exude naseauting confidence in areas that do not concern them.

This is the rant of one who realizes that being the half-naked girl on the fraternity’s party flyer does not make you a model, and the heights you will acheive at the rate you are going will be more pornographic than prominent and no one wants that. We did not arrive at our respective institutions to live out loud and gain the love of the crowd, we the fish are at school to learn to swim. So test the waters of various organizations and the depths of your passions, but focus on the primary goal and elevate your mind and its potential above that of your body and your beauty.

This is not an ugly girl rant. Its just the perspective of one girl, all looks aside.


The *Giant @ 50!

There once lived a man who never really lived until he was set free. Before he was set free his life was not his own. He was enslaved, beaten, broken, and subdued physically and mentally, but one day.. One day.. His oppressors left and he was set free.

Like an infant taking his first steps he tested out a path all his own. The year was 1960, the date was October 1, and it was his independence.

This man comprised of many life forces. Many individuals and opinions that made him who he was. For he was not a man in the literal sense, but more of a nation fortified by like-minds and hopeful hearts. As the years passed he forged his path, yet his potential was so big that it blinded his perspective. Resources so abundant that he abused their returns. His heart was willing, but his flesh was weak, and as thus he subdued himself to the songs of sirens singing of money that sought to steal his soul. And so he sold it, over and over again he sold it.

Sold it so some could celebrate while most were left to suffer. He stopped listening to his collective conscience and began to succumb to his own greed. He forced out the voices of those who couldn’t afford a seat @ the table, and thus the gap widened and the nation as a whole was enslaved again – this time the victim and the victor were one and the same.

The victor had the keys of life – yet he held them tight as he hoarded the hope of the masses – cashing them in, until he possessed all he could plunder, and then he would pass keys on to the next head – all of whom gradually became guilty of the same crime. And so 50 years later all he has left to show is what he had 50 years ago whence he took his 1st faltering steps.

Talents buried in the sand, gathering dust and remaining underappreciated by those who could leverage these abilities for the gain of all.

But sleep can only last for the night, and one day even the slumbering giant must awaken. The dream has become a nightmare, and in this reality the strength of the collective is rising up against that of the head. A consensus is being reached that says – the man must compete, the man must contribute, and the man must confess.

Confess that this existence is not sustainable. Confess that he is no longer man alone, for his life forces are scattered across the continents. Dotted on every continent, and they weave together a web so strong that the man must heed their message. He is and will remain constrained, and shall not be set free until he owns up for his actions, takes charge of his resources, and commands the respect of the collective by heeding the voice of his own conscience that has become hardened and desensitized to the cries of the collective.

Once upon a time hopeful hearts beat from within, and to this day they still do. Sometimes it is ever so faint, but if you concentrate you can hear the hope and if you close your eyes you can see the future. Those hopeful hearts – waiting, willing, and wondering when the time will come when they will power up this life force again with the synchroinzed beating that in collaboration  will bring light, strength, and ultimately success in a land free from the constraints of corruption.

Wetin man pikin go do? Dig up our talents and add our voices to that of the collective of course! Our objectives are the same, our pride is palpable, our success is eminent. It’s all up to us. And as always – God dey!

Happy birthday! Here’s to tomorrow.