when
you
see my shirt stained with blood

when
you
see my cheeks ripped with red

when
tonight
my ***** reeks with excess of red

leave me to my God,
              ,  you don't know what happens
                                                              , behind closed doors.


leave me with my god






or love me deep.

They warned me often about my lavish spendings
and reckless lifestyle.
They warned me with heavy words like

poverty,
sleep,
children,
future,
hunger.


But I would not listen.
So they gathered and talked amongst themselves.
Planned for the day I would come late,
Asked that I followed them to get some latte
Then we parked at the place of initiation.

Women talking in languages other than my fluent tongue,
Smokes and fires! Firewood and charcoal!





Three days later, I'm driving to Aromire Road
For my steady diet of akara* and bread.

"Oh Seye, you now eat 'bean cakes'?"

you repugnant *******!
you keep me wondering
just why god created you

they say He has a reason
for everything. Why he created you
I still don't understand. but lately
i wonder if you were created
just so i could have this day
to myself.

full of filth, creepy as hell
disgusting at the sound
of your belly being squashed

but for the sake of justice,
i sprayed you with my favorite
perfume.
not because i have a pint of love for you
but because every opportunity to end your life
should be fully taken advantage of.

i watched you die. it was slow.
first your legs uncoordinated,
you scrambled for the walls
but they failed you. they did fail you.
then you choked. i could almost hear it
you thought of the darkest place
to dig your grave. but not on my marble floor

i watched you die. i wanted it faster
but the sweet smell of the Hugo Boss
and the death of a scape goat...
a scape roach,
was bearable.

maybe you deserve a soundtrack
or a more befitting burial in a bin
but a poem for you is totally undeserving
save for my joblessness.

and then i infused
my fantasy in your dreams
tomorrow, you'll come.

In the beginning we prayed the sun would shine
And that we would have butter for tomorrow's bread
And that kings would call us on our phones
And then we prayed for our families and for our friends
And for the meeting with the boss
At 10am tomorrow.

Later we walked through the back gate
Of the  petrol station that led us to the market
This time we prayed for enough money to buy stock fish
and the new maggi flavor they talked about on TV
But despite the fumes from the noisy generator outside,
8.30pm's dinner we would enjoy

Wasn't it the other day we prayed for lamb
and more soup when the bike hit you
and we could barely afford a cab to take us back home?
Quickly buying balm from the kiosk beside George's,
Asking God why again,  we prayed for a car.
Taxis don't enter after 10pm.

So from that day, we dreaded the gates
between the station and ojodu market
We looked beyond the skies when it rained
Soaking our sunday best. She hissed
And I made excuses, "Maybe God wants to tell us
That this time tomorrow, we will tell a story"
10pm tomorrow?

Heaven 's giant gates opened
Yes, slowly. Those everlasting gates did open
They did open to our hearts
But ours were shut.

Who knew when?

the death of a lover
a bottle of ***
a shrugged shoulder
and a chest that weighs
more than my body.

once again i shrug,
laugh it all off
like it doesn't matter.
but she still tip toes
in the middle of the night
to insight envy.

the death of a lover
a cup of tea
a teaspoon of sugar
and a memory
of starless nights.

I am looking for someone who knows how to stay
Someone who ignores the bad breath
That walks out of my mouth when I say the words,
"Will you stay with me?"
Someone who won't get scared seeing the scars
Well lodged under my fitted white t-shirts.
I am looking for someone who looks beyond
The words 'commitments' and waits for me
To stutter the right words at the right time
About the right time.

I am not made of plastic or steel
Diamonds belong to the rocks
and songs that praise dead warriors.
But I am made of dust. The one you
trample upon- On the busy streets of New York
Or the rowdy streets of Ikeja-under-bridge.
Dust that won't stay.

My emotions bleed like the felt tip pen
In one moment's rush and in another second's silence
Like the ocean tide.

Like the ocean's tide, sometimes I get high
Sometimes low. The winds that blow
Never leave me to my own predictions.

I wear a shell of manhood
One that masks the same little boy
Who lived on a mother's breast;
The same boy who bit his nails
At every opportunity. The same boy
Who never knew the difference between
right or wrong.
visit or stay.


I know what it feels like to be a forest
And I know what it feels like to be a tree.
My bark is tough and my leaves wide
I can shade from the beating pelts of spring's rain
The Sun and I have an alliance
And anyone that lives under my arms
Owns a certain glow.
I am looking for someone
Whose roots will stay firm to the ground
Curled around mine like the lomp of the
Nigerian man's hair.
I am looking for someone
who will stay.


Will you stay?