Category: Poem

Anxiety, Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Pain, Poem, Prose, Sleepy time, Thoughts, thoughts, writing

Shot Glass.

I. Ogunbase

Adrenaline and emotional pain, poured into a shot glass for your heart to drink.

You’d call it poison, I’d call it life.

Life, like the pound notes entering your pocket, but bleeding through the hole at the bottom as you try to pay the debtor for “one more day”.

Like the great staircase leading upwards, whose only requirement is that you step on the head and bodies of others to ensure there’s enough space for you to claim as yours.

You’d call it deplorable. Some would say “Competition”.

Competition as basic as who gets into work the earliest to bask in some sweet brownie points of being “ever ready” to get to work. Or is it the excellence in one’s field as they struggle to show that their work is worth taking notice off above others?

Or maybe it’s the “trying-to-1-up-you-by-showing-you-how-much-I-can-provide-for-you-when-contrasted-with-how-much-you-can-provide-for-me-” sort of battle, as couples hug in public as they joust in their individual mental landscapes.

Some would say its healthy.

Others would liken it to alcohol.

But after the first couple shots, the burning feeling in your chest dissipates as your body temperature rises from the pot of emotions bubbling underneath.

Words start to slur as words decide to stop lying on your behalf. Memories merge into an amalgamation of horror and fancy as you play the “What If?” game with yourself.

Then the world spins, and you taste the exotic dish of hard granite and dirt on your lips to pass the night.

And for a moment,
however brief,
It
all
just
stops

And then you awake.

 

Anxiety, Descriptive, Emotion, Life, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Prose, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, writing

[Sleepless]

I. Ogunbase

I have to remember to release my breath.

I don’t want to die, I just want to sleep.

But the grip around my heart just tightens, as my chest heaves up and down. My palms are sweaty, and I find myself staring down the ceiling.

The once-white ceiling, now transformed into an artistic piece of daily worries, superimposed upon my inner insecurities. Fear being the curator, I’m seated at the exhibition and treated to a nightmarish tour.

I have to remember to breathe.

I don’t want to die, I just want to sleep

Forget my today’s worries and rest within the bosom of nothingness for the few hours I have between today and ‘tomorrow’

I just have to remember to breathe

I just want to sleep

Emotion, Late Night, Love, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, writing

Sleepless…

I. Ogunbase

3 hours in and my body forces me awake. Body heat fluctuating because it can’t understand how I can sleep while my mind’s in emotional disarray.

The light pierces through my eyelids, and having the flash of bright light, I find myself staring at the white ceiling.

Maybe I’m not as good in communication as I thought.

Emotion, Life, Poem

Scare Tactics

I. Ogunbase

I notice when you creep ahead of me,
Your silent boots,
Not so silent
The dark shadows at the edges,
The creaking floorboards,
The whinging door frames…

I know what you plan,
As sure as you know what my reaction will be.
We’ve played this back and forth relentlessly

You, jumping in front me yelling “Boo”,
Me, debating whether or not I push past the fear and bring the dream to life.

I’ll have to admit to the countless times I turned round and betrayed myself.
Bought into your doubt and told myself I couldn’t make it.
I had watched you take credit for it then, parading the failed carcass of my goals to your colleagues.
I watched ashamed,
honestly,
broken by the realisation that you had blocked my forward movement, and left me with the backwards conveyor belt.

But that was then. This is now.

I can notice you creeping ahead of me,
Your silent boots,
Not so silent,
The creaking floorboards
And your silent whispers

I know what you plan,
As sure as you know what my reaction will be.
As we’ve played this back and forth relentlessly

I’ll be moving ahead this time though…
You’re not killing this light I’m holding in my hands.

I’ll be moving on ahead this time…
We’ll revisit this game,
next time I’m around

Poem, Thoughts

*

I. Ogunbase

I once thought my ears were ineffective.
Physically there, but lacking the the focus to hear…
hear here.
Till my eyes guided me to your face and told me to listen.
Told me to hear underneath the lines,
and the subtle phrases.

So…
Speak.
Let me listen.

———–

I once hoped my words were effective.
To shelter you, guide you and help you see clear…
Clear, here.
Till you rebuffed my advices and showed me you didn’t care.
Showed me you’d rather see for yourself,
and go through the experience.

So I revert back to where I started from.

So,
I reckon,
on that note
Keep Speaking.
I’ll keep listening.

Life, Pain, Poem, Uncategorized

[Lost Pages]

I. Ogunbase

I went through my drafts and found this. So I’m gonna post it. It’s from 3 years ago. Hope you enjoy it. I’m going to start posting any old work of mine that don’t have a particular theme, be it prose, blog post or poetry under [Lost Pages] from here on out.

*

She

is

Locked within herself like a prisoner…
Everyone sees the ‘lady’ but fails to see her…

Innocence chained up by the experiences she’s been through
one can only guess how she’s lived through it…
Forced to ‘grow-up’ against her wishes,
so she compensates with binges of drinks,
white upon her nostrils,
and momentary lapses of ‘faked’ intimacy…

Nightmares still caused by the memories,
leaking eyes – at the thoughts she remembers,
Father’s cold eyes as she falls subject to his ‘dominance’
was this what he meant when he called her, ‘my little princess’

“It’s only for a moment…”
but the moment’s seems to last forever

Maybe this is what her mum meant
when she said she could be ‘whatever’

Alarm goes off, and she knows its time to work,
Mascara and make-up to conceal the hurt,
Back on the streets, about she walks…
Searching for the next pleasure pill to forget it all…
*

Coping System, Emotion, Life, Pain, Poem, Thoughts

Little Miss 21

I. Ogunbase

Hello Ms 21.

Look at you all grown…

It’s funny how, over the years I’ve,
raged, argued and butted heads against your stubbornness.

Because, goodness me, are you difficult.
But I love you, nonetheless.

It’s funny how, you’ve brought me joy and sorrow,
tears and laughter,
fights and fun fights…

I mean, we have had our share of childish antics,
and we’ll probably have more crazy fun,
especially now that you’re grown.

“Little Ms 21” is now an adult,
ready to take the world by storm.

[Laughs]

Happy Birthday, Girl…

—–

I miss you, Ms 21.

Thinking of you, all grown…

It’s funny how I think, over the years we would have
raged, argued and butted heads against your stubbornness.

Because, goodness me, were you difficult.
But it made me love you all the more.

It’s funny how, you brought me joy and sorrow,
tears and laughter,
fights and fun fights…

We had our childish antics back when we were young,
but that was a long time ago,
when you were still here…
and now you are gone…

“Little Ms 21” would be an adult now,
ready to take the world by storm.

[Sighs]

Happy Birthday, Lil Sis.

Poem, Prose, Shorts

A Letter To You

I. Ogunbase

I want to write you a letter.

At first the feeling dawned upon me like sweet morning dew gracing the beautiful green of trees and plants everywhere. The colours became clearer, the sounds became sharper, and deep within me, I knew I was dead certain that I want to write you a letter.

But I am stuck.

You see, I find myself dangling on the edge of possibilities of what the letter could entail just for you, but still left indecisive as to what would be best.

Do I write to lift your spirit up? To tell you how life, while complex in itself, is simple when left in the hands of your Creator? To motivate, teach, push and assist you through all that might hinder your progress? I recall the day we spoke last, about dreams and goals and I recall you being just as indecisive as I am right now. You remained unsure as to what path to take. Thinking back, maybe I should have nudged you down what I thought would have been better for you. Then again, I wonder… would you have been offended if I did that? I don’t know. Hindsight.

Do I write to describe and display my vulnerability to you? give you the potential to wound me deep with your pen and word? Do I tell you the things that make me weak? the things that make me afraid? Do you remember when we had the discussion we had about the mistake I made when I was relatively young and naive? I had gotten so relaxed in flesh that I didn’t see the pitfall in front of me. My goodness, did I fall.

It’s all hilarious now when I look back, but my goodness was I afraid. Of consequences, of future, of self. Hindsight.

Do I write to address the issues of the heart and how I feel about you? Will you accept it this second time round? Will you forgive me for writing it, as opposed to saying it? Because my oral articulation suffers when incoherence sets in from anxiety pressure. We did this dance once, back when we were younger. Maybe I shouldn’t write it, as that led to you raising me up from my metaphorical knee and softly rejecting my advances. Maybe I’m still naive. Maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe it was fleeting.

As more possibilities cloud my thought-space, I find myself still considering what would best be put in the letter that you’d read addressed from me.

I’m still unsure as I realise I can write about the dreams I dream about.

I can write about the fantasies I play out in my head, all colourful, diverse and ultimately expensive enough to demand a hollywood budget.

I can write about my memories and show you how much nostalgia I carry within this body of mine.

or maybe…

…maybe I should write to leave a piece of myself with you.

Can I…? Can I write a letter to you to remember me by? A letter to leave a piece of myself with you, should the day come when I am gone and ‘we’ are no more…

The future is always filled with uncertainty, so I can’t promise I’ll always be here, no matter how much I will love to be. Having lost a lot of friendships along the way, I can’t guarantee the same won’t happen to us.

It may even be out of my hands, as everything the Creator wills, happens for a reason.

I think I’m going to write a letter to you.

I just don’t think you will see it.