I Want To Tell You…

I want to tell you of how I’m hanging by an almost-invisible string of happiness;

How I walk on eggshells around myself, afraid that my thin smile might just break into uncontrollably bawling.

I want to tell you how I feel when I look at all my friends laughing like they have no worries in the world;

How I feel when I see her, most especially, having the most perfect life anyone could ever ask for.

I want to tell you how un-silly I feel comparing myself with others.

 

I want to tell you how I feel as I approach my street;

How I feel knowing that it might be another night to be taken advantage of;

How I pray and groan to God to keep him sober one more night;

While I rehearse to be numb through all the thrusting and strangling.

I want to tell you how my vision blurs out

And I levitate my soul to my quiet and happy place;

A place without tears or sorrow or molestations

A place where everyone respects and genuinely loves everyone.

I want to tell you how I scoff at this imaginary place.

I am a fool.

There is nowhere to run from him.

 

I want to tell you how I felt when I first found out;

That vows made through happy tears had been broken by a cold dead conscience.

I want to tell you how stupid I was; in retrospect,

When I fought and screamed at him for cheating.

I want to tell you about the night I conceded and accepted;

That what was once my perfect pudding had now become sour spoilt rotten akamu

I want to tell you how worthless I felt when I said, ‘Okay. Just make sure you don’t bring any kraw-kraw disease into this house’;

And how I felt when he laughed and said; ‘Now we’re talking’.

I want to describe the image I see when I look in the mirror;

Of a broken and unfixable woman;

Of a terrible life ahead;

And of an irreparable self-worth.

 

I want to tell you about my stupidity;

How I joined a group of deviant and irrational young men that night;

And destroyed a family forever.

I want to tell you all the things they didn’t tell me before I joined;

…all the ‘caveat’ they owed me.

Like how killing another human being is easy compared to killing your conscience;

Like how I would roll over my bed every night sweating furiously as I remember the face of the little boy as the bullet went through his chest;

Or like how I would randomly hear his mother’s scream in the dead of the night.

I want to tell you how that the events of that night feel fuzzy in my head but yet I remember everything that happened;

I want to tell you how the index finger of my right hand still twitches; just like when I shot that boy;

I want to tell you how sorry I am;

I want to tell you how scared I am;

I want to tell you how stupid I am;

But I also want to tell you how rich I’ve become.

 

I want to tell you about her;

About how she makes me laugh simply by twitching up her nose and oinking;

I want to tell you how I feel;

That no one else has made me feel this way;

But I also want to tell you how wrong it is;

What my mother told me;

She said, ‘If I ever see you doing what you two were doing in that room ever again, you would understand why daughters should dread their mothers’

I want to tell you how I sit up late at night wondering how this can be wrong;

I want to show you all the scriptures that say that it is wrong;

And I want to tell you that I believe them.

But I also want to tell you that I don’t understand how I feel.

I want to tell you how I really want to change;

But how I don’t want to change.

I want to tell you that I’m confused;

And that it’s killing me.

 

I want to tell you how I wake up by 4am every morning;

I am getting used to the smell of my own saliva.

I want to tell you about the last time I slept on a normal bed;

But I really cannot remember.

I want to tell you how I stand close to my female passengers as they board the bus on my first trip of the day;

It’s the closest to smelling something better than my saliva.

I want to tell you how sore my throat is at the end of the day;

I want to tell you how I become an accountant at night;

Explaining why N50 is missing from the day’s fare proceeds;

I want to tell you how my heart races every time we approach a bus stop;

I don’t want to argue with these NURTW people; but my boss says if we don’t, we would be the most miserable of all bus drivers/conductors;

I want to tell you how I never look at the ground when I hang from the bus

I want to tell you what I think about when I get a bird’s eye view of the road;

And why I smile when the breeze blasts in my face;

I want to tell you that I particularly hate folding the Naira

But that would be too silly for me to say.

 

I want to tell you about my academics;

But I’m afraid I’m not smart enough to;

I want to tell you how I feel in class;

Lost and so confused;

I want to tell you how I can literally feel something blocking my brain;

And how I really want to visit the doctor and ask him to conduct a scan.

I want to tell you how I envy my siblings every time they say or do smart things.

I want to tell you how I daydream every time about being the next Ben Carson;

But I can’t even keep up reading anything at all for as short as 5 minutes.

I want to tell you that something tells me I’m not a dullard;

But that same something also told me to say that rubbish answer in class.

I would really like to tell you that I’m not a dullard.

 

I want to tell you a lot of things…

But I can’t…

Because they are better experienced…

And best not experienced.

 

I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Discover more from Adeboro Odunlami

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue Reading