Thursday, October 2, 2014

I wrote this for you

1. You frankly didn't have enough money for me to want you for it.

2. I'm sorry I had too many opinions and thought too highly of women to be with you.

3. I wasn't going to compete with her for you. I hope when you get home at night and lie with her, she smells me on you.

4. I hope her smiley faces on Instagram last forever.

5. Yesterday someone called me beautiful and only you would understand why that would make me cry.

6. You were an act of rebellion that I regret.

7. It wasn't love. It was something like it. More volatile, more passionate, more delusional. It looked like love but it was never love.

8. You said "don't ever change. Don't let anyone change you". Then you left for a boring girl with a soft voice and no strong opinions.

9. I don't believe in karma. You'll have a good life. I wasn't a safe pick.

10. There was something beautiful about the way we dug into each other, the way we made feasts out of our bodies. Our bodies belonged together.

11. I will never write another word about you.

Monday, September 29, 2014

23.

I turn 23 in approximately 6 hours.

when i turned 21, i literally thought time would freeze and i'd be 21 forever but apparently not.
time has flown by so quickly.
i hope this will be a good year for me.
my twenties have not at all turned out how i thought and hoped it would.
it's been a very shitty last few years for me.
like really shitty.
i've cried more in my twenties than in my entire life put together.
i've made shitty choices.
i've had really shitty people come into my life just to fuck me up over and over again.
i've never been farther away from God.


So, here's to 23.
please, please, be kind to me.




leggy.

Monday, September 1, 2014

Birthday gift ideas for your nigerian boyfriend.

i once knew a guy whose friend's girlfriend gave his friend a bible for his birthday present and that apparently made her marriage material. i kid you not. this guy i knew and his friend said with so much conviction how mature, and spiritual and ready for marriage she was. So because i love you guys and want y'all to get that ring;

a list of things that are acceptable as gifts for your nigerian men are:

-- Obviously, a Bible - because a Bible says that you have read proverbs 31. a Bible shows that you are not materialistic and don't want that nigha for his money because that same bible contains the passage - the root of all evil is sin or something like that. even better, you won't need to spend like half your tax returns buying him something expensive.

-- fedex food - some guy told me recently that he wouldn't be surprised if i end up not getting married because i refused to cook for him. this is a nigha i am not dating oh. i told him my parents didn't send me to america to cook for men who are not paying my rent. it got me thinking about some girl that fedex-ed her boyfriend chinchin and pepper soup from half way across the state and well, let me just say that that dude is still with that girl and will probably marry her. if that's not prove that you should send that care package, i really, really don't know what is.

-- a ring - nothing says "keep getting me a ring at the back of your mind" like literally giving your boyfriend a ring. during the presentation you can quietly slip in the size of your fingers, you know, just in case he needs a little push. also, talk about how much you don't even want an expensive ring, marrying him is all that matters to you.

-- a free pass - chances are he's already sleeping with funmi but just imagine him actually having your approval? he'd love you for life.

birthday gifts can be cheap and easy and still set you up for bigger things to come in the future. you can go around buying your man actual gifts you think he might like or you can save your money and invest in your future. all terms and conditions apply sha.

do you have any gift ideas that you think our various nigerian men would appreciate? let me know in the comments. this could save a life...or a relationship.

love,
leggy.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

you're allowed to feel all the feels you want to feel

why aren't women allowed to be bitter? sometimes bitter is what you should be feeling.
i find that women are constantly under watch by the emotion police. especially nigerian women. you cannot talk about something your ex did to you without being labelled bitter. you cannot talk about your experiences without some idiot coming out and calling you bitter, telling you that if you'd moved on that you wouldn't still be talking about it.

you also probably shouldn't be around people who ask you how long a friendship/relationship lasted and then use your answer to estimate what you should or should not be feeling. trying to undermine your experiences with the amount of time that person was in your life. no matter how small a time you spent with someone, it doesn't change the fact that love - either romantic or platonic love - changes you in some small or really ridiculously huge way. it doesn't change the fact that this person was in your life for a certain amount of time, it doesn't matter that y'all knew it would end, it doesn't matter that y'all thought it'd last forever, it doesn't matter what the intentions were.
but when love ends, you're allowed to mourn, you're allowed to feel what you're feeling.
if bitter is what you're feeling, you're allowed to be bitter. don't let anyone bully you into pretending that you're not feeling anything. feel what you want to feel. you don't owe anyone any explanation or justification for your feels. feel it and then move on.

also, people need to realise that what you felt when something happened to you doesn't necessary mean that someone else should feel that same way. this is something i struggle with too. i find that sometimes i get over things quite easily, i gangsta through my feelings and move on but i need to realise that just because that is how i process things doesn't mean that that is how someone else should process their feels. let people feel what they are feeling, don't tell them what they should be feeling instead.

you don't always have to be the bigger person, the do-what-is-right person. this right here is something i struggle with sometimes in my life. i find that sometimes i do things because i know it is the right thing to do, not necessarily because i want to do them. this person did this? cut them off. this person said that? let them go. i never allow myself to feel what i'm feeling and accept that i'm human and others are human and sometimes people mess up and sometimes i'm allowed to mess up, and i'm allowed to feel what i feel and sometimes i should do what i want to do not what someone else wants me to feel or act how i think someone else wants me to act. sometimes, i wake up and wonder if i had just gone with what i was feeling if things would be different, instead of going with what i know i should do. i also struggle with advising my friends. i'm working on letting my friends know that they're allowed to do what they want to do, feel what they want to feel. i might think that it's stupid and i might think why don't you just get over it? but i never want anyone to wake up 5 years later and think - maybe if i had made that phone call, maybe if i had reached out. i never want anyone to stifle their emotions in this bid to be the one who moves on the fastest and wake up years later to realise that they have all these issues because they never learnt to feel their emotions and that in a bid to move on so quickly they ended up not resolving why something ended and why they no longer feel the need to feel what they felt.

here ends my rant of the day.
did not proofread.

love,
leggy

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Baked eggs [Stay]

"The truth is this:
My love for you is the only empire
I will ever build.

When it falls,
as all empires do,
my career in empire building will be over."
Mindy Nettifee, “This is the Nonsense of Love”
4 eggs
green onions
red onions
3 table spoons of oil
salt
pepper
paprika
minced garlic
bell peppers


i miss you most when i'm making baked eggs on a perfectly sunny saturday morning while swinging back beer and dancing around my kitchen to Taylor Swift. It hits me in between dicing the onions and convincing myself to use less oil that you are not mine anymore. That i have lost and shed all the skin that you once touched and bore your tongue into. that life has moved on without you. i am not sad anymore. i am not depressed anymore. but the poems all lie. missing someone hits you in between the most mundane tasks.  it happens when you're hands deep in eggs and suddenly the beating eggs sound like the way your heart shivered and stopped the first time he dared reach for you.
I don't know why you left. you found my scars beautiful, worth exploring, you found the possibilities of me endless and then you didn't. isn't that how all love stories end?

cut your green onions, bell peppers, red onions
pour your oil in to your sauce pan
put in your cut red onions when oil is hot, let it fry till translucent
put in tons of minced garlic, bell peppers and green onions, and let it fry for a bit
put in all the spices you're comfortable with (salt, stock cubes, paprika, all spice,ginger powder)
let it simmer for a little bit, then take it off the fire.

i don't know why you came back but at dinner i couldn't stop watching your mouth, the way it broke into nervous laughter, and the way it said my name like it belonged there, tucked in between the pearly gates of your tongue. you reached for me in a barely furnished apartment with your breath tinged with the beer you had been downing all night and you tasted like pain. Body shamed and caving with such desperation, kisses dropping upon the small towns and cities of this map of a body that you've colonised and left, time and time again.
is there a word for the crumbling of a body into submission? is there a word for the colour of red on dark skin? is there a word for two souls disappearing into each other? for 9 months worth of longing taken out on bodies too weak and yet too eager to love? is there a word for being too young to make your body into a mantra for passion?
on days like this, it looks like love. while our bodies are tangled and gasping for air, our hearts turn down the volumes of all the things we've done wrong, of all the ways this is a disaster, of all the ways we will eventually destroy each other. i am not a safe pick, someone should have told you that, i have been patched on and fixed, callouses and bones and flesh and little heart and i am guaranteed to come undone.

preheat your oven to 400 degrees
pour your vegetables into a baking pan you already coated with butter or a non stick spray
beat your eggs
pour your eggs over your vegetables
let it bake till the eggs are done.
sprinkle a little parsley or basil on top
enjoy

what i know of losing yourself in someone is this-
you will learn to enjoy the pain-
he doesn't mean to make you cry, he was just never taught how to stay
you will not recognise you in the mirror anymore
you will learn to peel off the sadness on days it surfaces unexpectedly
you will look up 9 months later while baking eggs and miss them
and suddenly, you won't know what to do with your hands.

love,
leggy


Thursday, June 12, 2014

To a friend, after a heartbreak

“I mean you ask me 

not to fall in love with you 

and then you go write poems
 
with your tongue 
and draw constellations 

in my freckles.”
Clementine Von Radics

When you tell him that you love him and he hesitates.
Do not make excuses for him. Do not rationalize why he doesn't love you like you do. Do not quote reasons why men can't express their feelings. When he tells you you're too good for him, believe him. When he says that he doesn't want to hurt you, nod. Don't cry. Let him say his piece. Stare at the mole on his face. If you concentrate hard enough your eyes won't betray you. When he says he doesn't want to be with you anymore, nod, walk him to the door, when he asks if you're alright, nod again. When he kisses you goodnight in places where the sun cannot see, let him. Savour it. This is going to be the last time his tongue will sing praises about the beauty you are.
When he finally leaves, collapse on your bed and cry, my friend. Because a love ending, even a one sided love, is reason enough to empty out your soul and weep.

I want to write you something that will heal you and make you forget but you have to go through the mechanics of break up. First you cry, then you call, then you bargain with God, then with him, maybe try fasting, Ramadan is on the way maybe give that a go?
Then your pride will kick in and you will delete his number and block him and just hold him in your memories where the only things you'll remember are the good days - not the day he yelled at you and made you feel unworthy. 
And the rejection will hurt most of all because you're beautiful and giving and amazing and how could he not want you? How could he not want to read the end of this gorgeous piece of literature you are?

Art is subjective, my friend and also he's obviously an idiot. But you are too woman for him. Too giving and loving and too filled with dreams of the future and ambition. You are worthy beyond words to be loved but not by a boy. Not by someone you have to make better, not by a boy who wants to put you through the ringer and then stands on your battered heart to call himself a man.
You deserve to be loved by a flawed man who is willing to compromise and stay and work at it and love you as much as he possibly can.

So cry and cry and cry and then move on to something worthy. Better things will come. Better people will come. And you will be better for it.

So, when you wake up in the middle of the night with an urge to call him, go back to sleep, don't let this undeserving boy be the moon to your ocean tides.

love, 
leggy.

Monday, April 14, 2014

a letter to myself, 6 months ago

You should see yourself this evening. nothing has ever looked better, in your bed, surrounded by pizzas and slinging back a bottle of beer. yes, you acquired the taste. you've settled into its bitter taste and managed to find the sweet in it. you're in your panties and bra in your furniture less apartment laughing hysterically about something you just saw on twitter. your alone has settled into you. you've remastered the act of being alone and now it feels like you're friends with yourself again.
it's spring again and your allergies are not as bad as they were last year and you're reading again and spring feels so good and your legs are out to play again.
it's probably 3am where you are and you're sad again, and you're crying again and you feel like you're never going to be happy again and you miss yourself and you miss the person who left.
love did not come how you expected and it did not stay how you expected. you built an empire in between the shoulders of winter but of course it must fall like all empires do. the summer came around with graduations and job searches and depression and all its southern sun and melted your empires.
i wish you could have seen you today - content, happy, maybe then you would have cried less, danced in your underwear more, enjoyed the drinking instead of using it as a form of escape. i wish you didn't have to turn to the sleeping pills to lure yourself into constant oblivion. i wish you hadn't forgotten how to love yourself when someone else offered to carry that burden. you should have known that no one could love you in the tentative and vain way you were accustomed to. you loved all of you out and ended up empty.
the world is starting to make sense all over again. you're going out more and traveling more and complaining about work and laughing with friends and having inappropriate sexual conversations with girls who helped pull you out of your loneliness. and you're loving the way your skin is finally hugging itself and your mirror tells you you're beautiful over and over again till you start to believe it again and you're having brunch and drinking red wine after midnight with girls who like to hold you and love you and tell you that you're too damn fabulous to be this lost.

this is all to say that
you've found you again
you're living again
and i'm so proud of you.

love,
leggy