I want to tell you of the girl that lives inside me…
You told me to confide in you, as justification for the term we call ourselves;
Besties! So here it goes…
I am best when I am at my worst.
My mind is a castle of stones; fully guarded like the garden of Eden with two flaming
swords supervising its affairs
But when depression comes, it eats, eats and eats away like acid poured on one’s flesh.
I die daily, not waiting for the expiration of 3 days; I resurrect, to die again.
My body is a temple that rejects the prayers of its faithful.
I think suicidal, to slit my wrist makes me orgasm but I live the hell here on Earth,
And would have no need to visit Hades.
My art is an oxygen mask, giving me the life I need when I begin to drown in the
sea of my own tears.
Mother says I need to be delivered from the demons inside me;
Father says I am not his but the grown-up sperm of a mad man.
My Ex says I have too many baggage and running shows he loves me.
Society says it’s okay if I smile and look pretty, the world doesn’t want to know about
the darkness in my soul;
This is the discrimination that I face daily.
I would draw healing with razor blades and broken bottles on my skin,
Watch my blood flow as if with it went the ghost that lives inside me,
And then I stopped, when father took up the job, by speaking words sharper than
the daggers of the Hausa men that live down the street.
There is no escaping my own mind, it’s a volcano in there; with lava burning and melting.
But I don’t stay dead. I am strong Bestie. I die but I don’t stay dead. My body is a resurrection.
Photo by Christoph Keil on Unsplash
Laura Chioma Nnamdi writes from Nigeria. She loves Jesus, sleeping and movies. She is passionate about justice and human rights. Her works have been published on African Writer, Kalahari Review, PraxisMagazine and elsewhere. She is a features columnist for Bella Naija.
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