What I want to write you

What I want to write you


My Dearest



Hi Olive,

It’s been a while since we last

Saw each other

I’ve missed you

Really, I have

I know it’s my fault

That I don’t know you anymore

I know it’s my fault that you don’t call me anymore

Still I miss our future

The one we can only remember now

Our adventures

Our memories

I miss sitting on your bed

Miss trying to make you like me

Trying so hard to be miss understood

Because I thought that’s what you wanted

I miss trying so hard to fit in with you

I miss feeling like I did

I miss our version of this moment

The way we envisioned it

Without distance

Without cruel friends

Who break hearts wordlessly and

Without explanation

I miss long hours spent discussing memories

Memories that are better in thought

Memories that were beautiful

Memories that are frozen in a time

Where we were the damsels who slayed dragons

In a time where we were the clarion call of adventure

In a time where we swore we would never fade away

A time so bright that when I look back in

To this time, I’ve betrayed

My retinas burn

I miss you

I miss

And I know it’s my fault

Although not this me

Brave enough to write you this letter

The other me

The one who will probably cross it out when she awakens

The other me

The insecure one

Who needs you to like her

So badly that she

Pretends to be someone else

She who practices unconscious quirks

Masters them in bathroom mirrors

Who wills herself to be cool

Who puts in so much effort to be effortless

Whose quirks you have to love

I admit that sometimes she overdoes it

I admit that she over thinks things

I admit that she has ruined so many beautiful friendships

You see sometimes she means to text you back

Sometimes she almost does

But most times she worries

She worries that she will never be profound

She worries that you’ll see right through her

She worries that you will understand her

She worries that she isn’t pretty enough

Quirky enough

She isn’t funny enough

To be your friend

She worries so much that

She leaves the messages unread

And hides behind the distance

She shies away

From the awkward silences

that accompany questions like

What are you up to?

What have you been doing?

How have you been?


Nothing she screams In my head

Up to nothing

Doing nothing

I am nothing


But I do know that we are friends

Aren’t we

We have to be

Even if I don’t act like it

We have to be

I need you

I mean

She needs you to like me

Even if I,

She is too scared to deserve it

So yeah,


I do miss you

It is my fault

I hope we see each other soon

I hope I’ll be brave enough to text you soon

Maybe I’ll try to

Maybe I’ll be busy

But must likely

I’ll lie about being happy

About being interesting

Having actual adventures

Being fine

Being ok

I am none of these things

I just am

I am the personification of



So…. What about you

How have you been?

Say hi to your brother Boaz for me

You see I remember,

Here’s hoping you are well

Here’s hoping

I’ll call you soon


                                                                      Your friend



What I write you instead 

Hi Olive,

It’s been a while

And I’ve missed you

Say hi to your brother Boaz for me,

I’ll call you soon



On The Bus To Ajah

( Ajah is a place in Lagos, Nigeria, where I live. After this encounter, which I still believe I did in fact share with my grandfather, even if he is a little bit dead, I now look forward to taking the bus. who knows what other adventures or people i’ll meet. Take the bus today and see if you find any inspiration.)

On the Bus To Ajah 

A man sits next to me on the bus to Ajah

I do not greet him

He is dark and grey

And decked out in Islam

When he looks at me he smiles

And I nod in embarrassment

He does not falter


I hold salaam at the tip of my tongue

held hostage by my bare shoulders

I hide my face behind my hair as it dances in the wind

He speaks

But only to ask if I have change

For his fare

I pay his fare


A man sits next to me on the bus to Ajah

He has no idea how profound he is

He doesn’t look it

He doesn’t sound it

But he feels like my grandfather


They’ve the same aura

Same beautiful charcoal skin


This man FEELS like my grandfather

And I think, wow!


Of all the days I could have met him

Of all the times he could have seen me smile

He chooses a time where I am

Completely my self

And this upsets me


A man sleeps next to me on the bus to Ajah

I watch him closely

I hope he dreams

Of granddaughters

Who love him

Granddaughters who are

Confident in Islam

Who have warm shoulders

Covered and protected

And scarves that dance in the wind


A man sleeps next to me

On the bus to Ajah

When he opens his eyes

He is just a man

Not my grandfather

Who has long since run out of life

Not a reflection of the me I hope to soon be

Not nostalgia

Not… anything

He is just a man


I wear my hair tied up in scarves

My shoulders beneath warm clothes

I am completely myself

This does not upset me

And so when …

When a man sits next to me

On the bus to Ajah

Dark and grey and decked out in Islam,

I greet him with a hearty








The First Time I Met His Mother

The first time I met his mother

It was new year’s eve

And I was nervous


We sat around the dinner table

All twenty of his relatives

And me, his soon-to-be wife

And she whispered,

“don’t be”


The second time I met his mother

We sat by the window

In a hospital waiting room

In addition to the cigarette burns

On her caramel skin

The third degree burns on her heart

Were singeing


On my third encounter with the lawyer

His mother came to see me

Hating me for leaving

Because she knew she never could


However hard I did avoid her

I saw her one more time

When the fates put

His father’s body in the ground

Through fake tears I saw her smirking

Like she did when they buried him

I’m so sorry

Is all I whispered

Lying through my teeth

With poker face and steady voice

She whispered back

“Don’t be”







The Racism of Zebras

We are a respectable breed of mammals

And hence should be treated as such

We have no quarrel with our brothers

We view all stallions in grace


Be you midnight black

Or radiant white, we do not segregate

Of course you see,

How can we

We wear both colors upon our skin


Some call us white

With stripes of night

Like tribal marks upon our hide


As if it is something we should avoid

Something we ought to want

To hide








I wrote a song. It’s a twist on the Jack and the beanstalk story. Jack and his girlfriend runaway from their parents who are the giants in this story. the girlfriend lives in a tower so far away that jack has to climb a beanstalk to reach her.




When it gets dark out

Through towers and beanstalks

He climbs up to my window and we talk

He says its magic

Girl don’t you feel this

I say my mum will have a cow

If we get caught

Don’t you worry about me baby

We still got hours before they wake up

Just bring the music with you baby

Darling its magic

What you waiting for

Please say

You’ll meet me by

The market place at ten

Your mum will have a cow

That we can sell

I’ll be your music

If you’ll be my golden egg

Please say you’ll run away

If you say you’ll runaway

And I’ll take you

Places where the giants never fare

If you steal some music,

then I swear I’ll never tell

and baby we’ll runaway

please say you’ll runaway

runaway baby can’t you

see that’s all we can do

all we can do

runaway baby

I’ll just spend my life with you

so please say

you’ll meet me by

the market place at ten

your mom will have a cow

that we can sell

I’ll bring the rings

And you can ring the wedding bells

And baby well runaway.



Jack and Jill

I wrote a song  duet. its my own take on what really went down with Jack and Jill

(p.s, Here they are not siblings)



Hey Jill,

I’m still stuck on lower ground

So won’t you give me a hand

I broke my crown

When I fell down down

This hill must be made for you and I

Cuz I see no one else around

So won’t you promise to come after me


Jack I know youre alone

I know the fault is my own

But if I fall

I know theres no going home

In time whats broken will mend

And youll see the end

Of this disaster

But theres no point in tumbeling after


Hey jill when didya get so cold

You know its all your fault

You tripped me over


Jack im not tumbling after


Im broken im bleeding out internally

And youre still standing on a hill


Jack im not tumbling after


Ooh ooh ooh im still in love with you

Though you played me for a fool

But I guess you’re not tumbling after.