All the Ways

I want you

In a primal, insatiable way

Full of tongue and heat and grips still not tight enough

I want it to be filthy

I want you

In an immaculate, chaste way

All buttoned up, not an ankle showing

But your heated glances run me ragged

My intentions towards you are entirely honourable

I want you 

In a complicated, painful way

Full of passion and conflict and frenzy

I want to ruin you

I want you

In a simple, comfortable way

Where we talk about everything

Or absolutely nothing

And still understand each other completely 

I want you 

In a loud, ostentatious way

Shout to the heavens 

Of your affections for me

So I can never forget  

I want you

In a silent, sure way

Secure in the knowledge

That I’ve found my partner

I want you 

In a selfish, covetous way

Love me, worship me, adore me

I want you

In a generous, lavish way

I do love you

I’ll worship you

I adore you


I Won’t Settle

“I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love: I am here; I wait.” – Sylvia Plath

This is truth for me. This is undiluted, raw truth.

This is truth that I hide under practicality and reality and distraction and frankly, a lack of viable candidates anyway.

Because whenever I think of all my hopes and dreams, especially the really steep ones, there’s always that voice ‘but you gotta be realistic though’ , telling me not to think too outside my scope. That’s the ‘real world’ talking. And I’ll concede, that voice is very necessary. It stops me from flying off rooftops and such. But I have to admit, reality breaks my heart.

But what about this ‘big, smashing, creative etc..’ love? Is it so far out of my reach? Maybe the type I’m thinking of. Because all these movies and novels and music sell me bullshit that real life can never live up to. Nevertheless, I’d like to think that, even with all that bull clouding my judgement a lot of the time, I can still reasonably want some of that. Love. Or unreasonably want all of it, because anything is possible. I mean, these love stories, what draws me isn’t so much the grand gestures or the ever-occurring love at first sight, as the connection. The fact that you can connect so deeply with another person that you just want to know every part of them. That I can also share every single part of myself and know that it’s appreciated. I don’t want to be in a relationship just to be in one. I want to be in a relationship because I cannot stand to not know you. One where I know you feel the same way. Not passive love, active, very active love. Heat and depth.

Like I said before, there are no viable candidates as at now.

I wait.

But hey, I’m sure I’m not really selling myself as much of a candidate either. Because on a normal day you won’t see any of ‘this’ part of me. I don’t go around spouting literary quotes or musing out loud. I don’t have my nose in a book walking around, ready to bump into my soulmate, and honestly, most of the time I’m holed up in my room anyway. I can be veryyyyyy basic. I can store all this away. I know where I learnt how to hide all this.

And as a result of a low sense of self-respect coupled with desperation and the unfortunate fact that I don’t have a lot to work with anyway, I fall for the typical guy. I generally fall for the guy that everyone falls for. There’s nothing particularly original about you if I like you. Because all I really need is for you to be cute and a little flirty and funny and pay attention to me. I don’t even need you to be single. You don’t have to work hard. Because I’ll take you and change and distort you in my head into who I want you to be and who you could be if only I could work on you. I take all the things I’m really looking for in a guy and inject them into the little things that you do.

I used to wonder how people could just settle for any old person, when your potential soulmate could be out there. Your great love story waiting. But I could see myself settling. It’s very easy. I get it.

But I won’t. That’ll be my new mantra, ‘I won’t settle, I won’t settle, I won’t settle.’

Scarce Amounts of Love

I spend a lot of time ragging on myself. It’s not self-loathing, but I am aware of a lot of my flaws and, I try to call myself on them. Perhaps I do this a bit more than is necessary, perhaps I don’t do it enough of the time. I don’t know. I have no life manual so I have no idea which is better. Either way, it helps me remind myself that I’m not perfect, far from it. It helps me get a little deflation when my ego’s starting to take up space. On a side-note, I find it funny that with self-esteem as wobbly as mine, I’m still capable of an ego, what with all the hits it’s taken. It’s annoying because sometimes I think I’m a fucking awesome person. And then I come crashing back down.

Anyway, with all these constant reminders of imperfection, I find there’s a gap that needs to be filled, generally with a certain amount of self-love but, if you’re a bit prone to melancholic states like me, something darker. Maybe sadness, hatred, hopelessness? Try loneliness? Flat out depression? I don’t drown in these feelings the way I used to, because I’ve let go of a lot of my insecurities, as well a lot of the people and environments that generally went along with these feelings. Also, I think I’ve just grown. So I don’t feel these things as intensely as I used to.

But I can’t really say I love myself yet. I know I’ve said that sometimes I think I’m friggin awesome, but I don’t really believe that, and even when I do, it’s usually because of something superficial that I’m praising myself for. Like, oh, I look so pretty today, or oh, I lent her money and I don’t want it back, how great of me. And besides, I always come crashing down from that.

And when I’m not drastically either loving or irritating myself, I’m neutral. And not neutral in the ‘just the right amount of self-love’ kinda way. But neutral in the sense that I just don’t think anything of myself. Because I see all these cheesy inspiring quotes everywhere saying ‘love yourself first’ and ‘you’re the best’ and I’m always asking why why why but that part’s never included in the poster. I mean, really. Why should I love myself? Because I’m God’s child? Yeah well everyone’s God’s child and not everyone’s great. So come up with something else.

It’s been 5 years

I remember the stories we wrote. All that fiction about the typical YA fantasy bull that we were so proud of. And rightly so. Our shit was amazing.

I remember all those poems. Hardly any happy ones. That suited us best.

I remember all the novels. All that Ted Dekker and Danielle Steele before we were old enough to know better.

I remember my ‘extracts’, and your short stories.

I remember that one time you dumped me.

I remember my disbelief at the fact that I could be dumped by a friend.

I remember we got back together and stayed that way. I don’t remember the how.

I remember the matching necklaces with the blue pendants.

I remember the bracelet with the different little images of Christ.

I remember the birthday card you made with everyone’s wishes inside. It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten. I still have it.

I remember us playing dance Wii, and me beating you cause I’m awesome like that.

I remember the nights by the dock, watching the ship lights glitter in the water.

I remember all the walks, and the talks, and all those plans.

I remember how I never really believed those plans were going to work. And when they didn’t, I sighed because reality got in the way too often. 

I remember when ‘best friends’ became an empty phrase.

I remember wondering why I physically just couldn’t share my literary side with you. I still can’t. You don’t know I have this blog.

I remember not being able to respond to affection. And worrying that that would always be the crux of my problems.

I remember the list of your favorite people and my name being nowhere on it. I remember that more vividly than I’d like to. I remember how much it hurt.

I remember all the times you were distant for no reason.

I remember when you told me everything.

I remember having no idea what I could do to help. Cause I needed to help, but there wasn’t actually anything I could do.

You know I’m terrible at giving advice.

I remember all the times I fell short.

I remember old obsessions over Drake and Miguel and Lil Wayne.

I remember my cereal and your eclairs and her haribos.

I remember you calling me your sister and me feeling like your sister.

Nigeria wants skinny you!

‘Chai! See your cheeks!’
‘Ahn-ahn, you have added o!’
‘This girl, you too dey chop!’

Africans, or let me say Nigerians because I don’t want to generalize too much, have become just as judgmental about body size as, well, foreigners.
It’s a result of the whole urban revolution, I guess, all of us being swept up in the need to not be a third-world country. So we mimic, mimic, mimic.

Apparently, and this was probably before I was born, Nigerians used to value a little meat on the bones. Not to the point of obesity, which is clearly unhealthy, but a little plumpness was valued. It used to show that you were enjoying your life, in good health, being prosperous. Skinniness was a sign of some misfortune, maybe fasting because of mourning, or anxiety. ‘You’ve lost weight’ was accompanied by a frown and a look of worry. But now, the same way ‘foreigners’ say ‘oh, thank you’, because it’s a compliment after all, we find ourselves smiling when people say ‘you’re so much slimmer’. ‘You’ve added weight’ will now make you feel embarrassed and want to provide an excuse for why this awful thing called fat has happened to you. You’re chubby means you’re lazy, it means you don’t have self-control, it means you should get a hold of yourself.

My dad is always saying I should watch what I eat so I don’t ‘lose my shape’, or no one will want to marry me. And if I ever even date someone who demands that I can’t put on any weight, I will have disappointed myself most of all. Now in Nigeria, for women, you’re only allowed to have fat in your ass, because that’s what shows you’re African. Ye ‘strong black women’, go to the gym and do a million squats a day please, even though it isn’t for your benefit, its for the guys. So you may be called a ‘bad bitch’, or I guess a nigerian guy will want to marry? No woman actually wakes up in the morning in need of a big ass if not to impress men with.
But mind you, that ass better not give you the illusion of bigness or else you’re right back where you started.
You could say however, that as we are becoming more educated, we are becoming more aware of the need to stay tight and fit. Even though I’ve never seen someone with a roll of fat here and there die of a heart problem. And let’s face it, this isn’t about health, it’s about needing not to be scorned or mocked for that extra pound or two. About needing to also wear those crop tops and booty shorts and dresses with the pelvis-high slits. So we’re all throwing out the chocolate and ice cream, and more importantly the pounded yam, garri, egusi, and our many, many rices, and embracing the green smoothies and baked chicken with greens and no salt. Walking around with water bottles all the time as if we are just now realizing that wow, it’s hot around here.

But don’t think if you’re proper skinny, you’ve gotten away. Because in that case, you don’t have a ‘woman’ body. If you have a flat chest or ass, your body is almost laughable because you’re too ‘lepa’, you don’t have an African enough body. So the ideal is an hourglass figure, what women slave in the gym doing waist exercises for. As if your body shape isn’t already pre-determined and everyone should just learn to deal with it.

Kindly Ditch My Stereotype


I have come to realize that we, or at least I, am trapped by what my friends perceive me as. Not people in general, friends. I came to this conclusion during one of my thinky sessions about why I resent the company of my friends sometimes. As it turns out, it’s the stereotypes, otherwise known as ‘familiarity’.

As a human, I am subject to change. Unfortunately, I find I’ve been labeled with the same descriptions over and over. I don’t know if it’s my fault. It might be, I know that. Nothing I am dealing with now can be solely blamed on someone else. If I’m unconsciously sabotaging myself by acting in a certain way that yields certain results, it would not be surprising. I irritate myself at times when I act in the exact way I despise but it’s a reflex action I can not control unless I’m consciously trying. Or if I have a list detailing what people should think of me stuck on my forehead, and sometimes this seems entirely plausible, someone needs to rewrite that list. Or if everyone just doesn’t understand that they may not know me that well. This seems like the best option.

Therefore, let this be a public service announcement to all. I am quiet and comfortable in that fact but not every slightly outgoing thing I do means I’m ‘coming out of my shell’ or putting on some ‘good girl gone bad’ gimmick. Anyone still clinging to the ‘oh yeah she’s so shy!’ should be aware right now of how outdated they are, and how exhausted I am to still be putting up with it. I most definitely know myself more than you know me.

But it isn’t just about the quiet thing, though many will still involuntarily think of it as my dominant feature. It’s… hard to explain, it’s a certain kind of condescending attitude, I think. I think people just feel better about themselves around me by reflexively putting me down. Because they can feel better than me. It’s a pretty bad thing to do to someone. I am not the bottom of the rung people.

But I try not to take it personally by being neither hostile, nor a doormat. Everyone around me is changing too, this is a trying time in my life as well as others. Just adapt, people, and I’ll adapt too and be open to whoever it is you’re becoming.

Reasons why I am single Pt 1

I have mixed feelings about this post because as much as I want to do it, I got this concept from YouTube and I guess these kind of ideas belong on YouTube vlogs and channels rather than on a writer’s blog. But I’ll try to tackle it to the best of my expressive abilities. Also, I guess some people would see it as superficial because in a way, I’m putting this emphasis on relationships (dating) being super important and necessary and that, in a perfect world, I shouldn’t be single. And probably the most glaring factor of all, I’m a youngster (pardon the weird term). I’m not even legal yet so what could I really know about relationships right? Wrong. I’ll talk about it anyway.
Putting all these factors aside, I was browsing and watched someone’s ‘why I’m single’ vlog and though she didn’t really say anything that resonated with me, at the end she recommended that we (the internet at large) actually think about it, that we might be surprised by what actually comes up. So I thought. And my reasons were actually making sense. To me anyway. And I don’t mean reasons I voluntarily state out of relationships, it’s more why they don’t happen in the first place lol.
Anywayyysss, enough rambling, down to business.

1. My world is looks first, personality wayyyyy later. For the better part of my teenage life, I’ve only been exposed to relationships (dating, I feel I need to clarify) where the main factor of whether you like someone has a lot to do with their appearance. As shallow as it may sound, that’s how the relationships I know well were born out of. And for whatever reason, these relationships kinda worked. It’s only when I came to the UK that I saw that this whole ‘getting to know you’ and ‘friends first’ thing wasn’t just out of the movies. People here legit have to know you first before dating ensues. It’s just seems like the most tiring thing ever. I mean, if I went home (country-wise) right now, I could go to the mall and have a boyfriend in under an hour.

2.I am not expressive. This is something I am muchos certain of, my friends can testify to that with words like quiet, shy (I really hate that word btw), shy, shy coming up again and again. Frankly, I don’t think I’m shy, that is a really wrong word to describe me. I was shy when I was 12, 13. I haven’t been shy in years, I just don’t feel the need to proclaim my presence in every room I enter. But people interpret it as shyness so whatever. But, that aside, I’m not very vocally..eloquent? I’m very talkative on paper and I can ramble on but in person not so much. I feel I unintentionally switch to a different person incapable of holding a long conversation. I find that in my everyday life, what I say doesn’t really translate to who I feel I am inside, that I subconsciously adopt this pretty basic persona. So I don’t know how good a girlfriend I could be if I rather we dated through text messaging.

3. I hate commitment. I really detest them, it’s so irrational. I don’t mean the concept of committing to one person exclusively and not cheating and shit. I’m perfectly fine with that, I’m not especially promiscuous. It’s more, the whole obligation of it. It’s like, I’d want to be with someone exclusively because I wanted to and not because of this whole concept of ‘welcome to your relationship. If you want to stay in it, these are the rules. Don’t fucking break them.’ I don’t want to feel like I have to, so don’t act like my parole officer. It’s the same way I detest the fact that I have to love my family members (bit of an extreme example). It’s a weird thing to hate but I can’t help it. But I don’t see it as my inner ‘rebel’ talking, cause I don’t think I’m a rebellious person. So I can’t really explain that.

So. There will most likely be a part two because I’m not anywhere near done. The more I think about it, the more reasons I drudge up actually.
Much love!


Nostalgia is a feeling. It is an emotion we get when we are trying to comfort our present minds with what was. We feel nostalgia when we are happy, but more when we are sad. We will occassionally feel nostalgia when we are happy and become sad. But more often than not, we will recall nostalgia when sad to try and be happy. But nostalgia is not a happy feeling. It’s an ache. It is the ache we feel at the base of our chest and the back of our throats. It makes us sigh and blink slowly. It makes us happily sad, or sadly happy. But any happiness tainted with some sort of sadness is not true happiness. But because we know that we cannot repeat the past, we cling to whatever we can get. Sad happiness.

I hate nostalgia. I really do. I hate the ache. I hate the pining. I hate the sighs. I hate wishing I had dragged out the moments when I could. I hate the irreversibility of the whole situation. I like situations that I can control. That if something goes wrong, there’s some sort of solution somewhere. You don’t get that when you’re thinking about things that can’t return. Nostalgia is a useless, wasted emotion. Because we pine over things that are gone, and can’t come back. No matter how much we wish they could.

“All the bright, precious things fade so fast. And they don’t come back.” -Daisy Buchanan, Great Gatsby.

It’s like when you’re having a really wonderful dream. The kind of dream that outweighs your real life easily. And you know that you’re getting to the climax of the dream, the absolute best part. You’re almost there, you know what’s about to happen and it’ll be so great. But then something stupid wakes you up. Something connecting with the real life that isn’t as great as your dream. Like your alarm clock, or the kids yelling, or your mum calling. And it’s too heart-breaking to stand so do you know what you do? You try to fall asleep and get the dream back. You try and try to picture the scene where you left off, like pausing then playing a film. But you just can’t get it back. No matter how hard you try.

It’s like hoping that you won’t die one day, like somehow, somehow, you can skip that. But it’s like, duh, you must.

There’s never any point in it. Because since, despite all the movies, noone has made a time machine, we can never go back to the past. I can’t tell you how many times I have wished and prayed and plead with all my might for just a single taste of yesterday. But I still find myself sitting in my room, very much in the present. Nostalgia can make one feel like their life isn’t getting any better, like it’s steadily going downwards. Because when we try to comfort ourselves with the past, we zoom in and magnify the good times and blot out the bad. We look at our present day with a sort of dissatisfaction. And it just seems like life was  a lot better then than it is now. Maybe it really was. But that won’t bring it back. The irreversibility of life. It’s frustrating. But that doesn’t change it.

“It does not do to dwell on the past and forget to live.” -Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter.

If Dumbledore said it then it’s got to be true.
I guess I just hate wishing for the sort of things that won’t happen again. 

Much love.

Posted from My Own Space

To Be Deep

I have been thinking again.
I wonder about those people. The stars. Those ones who are genetically gifted and popular with everyone and are the leaders of the pack and the envy of their friends and enemies and full of bright and beautiful and great and wonderful all at the same time.The ‘it’ people. The perfect people. Everyone likes them and they’re so confident and secure in themselves that they don’t need to like everyone back. Georgeous and talented and full of family and friends and who haven’t ever been depressed or suicidal. Never felt alone in a crowded room. Or cried themselves to sleep over some boy or some comment or their parents fighting or their loved ones dying. The ones that are too high on life to have ever sat down to analyse themselves. Or life. The ones that ‘life’ hasn’t happened to yet.
Because when you have everything there’s hardly room for worry. You know, there’s this film I saw where this character admitted she’d run away from home when she was a teenager. Not because she had any problems with school or friends or family. Actually it was because she had no problems. While all her friend’s parents were dying and divorcing, she was perfectly fine. It was actually frustrating for her. So she ran away. Because she thought it made her deeper somehow. She needed to create some sort of mid-teen crisis. At least later in life when someone asked her about her rebellious days or her sad days or her ‘deep’ days, she could say in a low, silky voice, “I ran away from home when I was fifteen. I know, it was stupid but I couldn’t take it anymore. The parents, you know…”
See, I wonder what’ll go through their minds when life hits. You know, when something bad and tragic finally happens to them and they finally have their first, deep, soul-searching thought. Because shit always happens. Sooner rather than later. And you have to deal.
At a point everyone wants to be deeper. Wants to feel and experience and think beyond the shallow surface. The idea of being ‘deeper’ isn’t even clear. It’s very wishy-washy. And it’s not held in high-esteem, seen as unnecessary a lot. But still, people go on those soul-searching trips. But the thing about being deeper is that you have to give up your glassy-eyed innocence. When you accept to feel…what is really around you, you have to accept that a lot of what you will feel won’t be nice. Because of the sort of world we live in. A lot of what we feel will be sad. Quite sad. There’s quite some happiness too because you understand things better and it helps you grow but there will be some things that you finally have to reconcile with yourself and that will be hard.
At least from what i’ve heard.
And experienced.
*little wave.
Much love all around.

Posted from My Own Space

The people to find

I haven’t met a lot of people in my life. I’ve been very sheltered so I haven’t come across too many different personalities. I feel like I need to though, to be able to evolve myself. It is true that the people you surround yourself with have a lot to do with how you yourself act. I want to meet those passionate people, the ones who truly believe there are more important things than yourself, no, really believe it and yet are still able to make themselves happy. The artists, poets, photographers, activists, the philosophers, parents even, the anythings! Who actually believe in what they do, not the ulterior motive they have. I’m not interested in the politicians and celebrities and doctors and lawyers who have the most straight-forward of lives. I want the people with the messy, ruff and tumble lives and spontaneous personalities who have realized early enough, or just in time, that this is their one shot at this life on earth and they won’t spend it being ruled by how to make money till you die, how to be more important than everyone else, how to acheive what society thinks will make you happy. They try their best to be happy, pursue their passion with enough fire to cover the earth and then at the end are able to look back on it and beam with satisfaction. Because this one life they were given, they did a hell of a lot with it, they did what made them proud, their achievements out-weighed the regrets. They’re the ones who aren’t suprised when life is over, but glad that they won.
Much love all around!
Ff @esiro_i