Chatters
There's a restlessness.
There's a fear.
There is a tingling feeling
of despair.

How will my future be?
How will my end come?
Too many questions,
no source for reply.

And yet,
they laugh at me.

The poet persona is restless, and he feels it around him. He is afraid, he feels a foreboding of sadness and coming chaos.
He has questions about his future but he has nothing for an answer. This shows the poet persona's loneliness.
He laments, upon all his troubles he is still laughed at,he still receives scorns. The poet persona is troubled, afraid and lonely.

I'm trying to read

But will not as much as hold a book

It is how I live

It is because I have another choice

I could copy

Could say ptsss, what's number one?

I stab myself like that

I know

Tomorrow I'll be great indeed

And then there's blocking

Another sweet one

Oh easy and convenient

Although I block through life

I'm not finished because I block

I'm finished because I've made it my only choice.

Cannot do otherwise

And my future is blocked by blocking.

The poem personally known as Psst Number One, is a commentary on the decadence of Nigeria's educational system.
The poet persona is, or appears to be, in a hopeless state. He is aware of his downfall but can do nothing about it. He wishes he could read but is lazy and perhaps procrastinating,'I'm trying to read/ but will not as much as hold a book ' he attributes his laziness to his having 'another choice'.
He begins to reveal his other choice. He says bluntly that he could copy and could ask questions in the examination hall. Both of which is examination malpractices.
In saying this he begins to unveil the mind of an average Nigerian student. A choice to depend on anyone or anything except themselves in the examination hall. Students do all kinds of malpractices, and are even innovative in their aim of not getting caught.
Unlike an average student, this poet persona understands the detriment of his actions. He knows for sure that he cannot amount to any good the way he is going.
He begins to talk about another form of malpractice, carried out in tertiary institutions- blocking. Blocking is a Nigerian term which means to bypass examination, by giving bribes to lecturers or getting free undeserved marks by the same means. He states that this means is easy.
He again says that he is doomed so, not because he bribes teachers per se but because it has become his only option.
He ends restating how terrible his future will be. From his stance, one has the impression of self mockery and foolishness.

u're gud maybe u shud try writing a story

Tomtoxic:
u're gud maybe u shud try writing a story

I will, thanks

BLOOD MEETS SPIRIT

At the dim of inner night

Shadows, two in numeration

Blinked and spoke to each other

In earthly and unearthly tongue.




I have no business

paying obeisance

to rules I don't believe in,

have had not a hand

in formulating.




Take heed my son!

Heresies are

made of these.




Father, why is beauty

now a standard for good?

Why can't I do this

without spoiling their mood?

Don't question order son.




Lost

Where can I start

To begin to find myself, father?

I've heard from wise mouths

that one cannot be better

at being anyone but oneself

But father,

What if one doesn't know oneself

as is my case

Where shall I start?




Start by stopping, he says,

Walking towards blackest night-sight

Where no stars dare converge.




And I wonder and wander

'cos his answer begats

a question to me.




How shall I start?

Anyone?

The poem elegantly comments on pretentiousness. It is a conversation between a father and a son. The son's stance at the beginning of the poem reveals a misunderstanding of belief and the 'thin' line between 'being' and 'pretending to be'. The son thinks he has found himself a way of filtering pretence from the real thing. For him, it is not a difficult task, what he believes in is real while what he has 'had not a hand in'- which in this context mean 'unconscious indulgence'- is pretence.
This poem can be better understood if the reader understands its meaning of ''pretence'. As far as the poem is concerned, pretence is the act of indulging in things one does not believe in.
Societal norms is the debate in this poem. It is an issue of living your life to your own acceptable level or to society's standards. Definitely, man cannot live in accordance with every demand society places on him. When plans differ, should he follow the so-called norms, he is regarded as one of the good ones, but should the reverse be his case, he is instantly tagged a miscreant.
The son's questions opens to us a freshness of his mind as he is awed, and I could safely say, embittered by the norms, the sancrosanct unquestionable 'truths'', the sacred cow -so to speak- of the society. He asks his father "why can't I do this without fouling their mood?" 'This' must refer to that which he believes in which is not acceptable to society. So he is at a loss as to which he should follow. He prefers to follow his beliefs against societal norms that are likely pretentious. But his father is part of the society that believes in order, regardless of whether 'order' -the generally accepted reality- is right or wrong.
From the line -LOST- we can assume that an intermission has occurred. Perhaps, the son has taken this time to swallow the 'order' of the day and has been won over by is father. But he declares that he is lost. He has taken it that his free-thinking mind is at fault and therefore should be discarded with. But by throwing away his ability to ask the WHY question, he finds that he is indeed lost. Because he has disregarded himself due to societal pressure, he begins to imagine that there is another self - a self that agrees blindly with society- in existence and seeks to find this self.
His father''s admonition to him in stanza 6- a climax in the poem- is paradoxical. And Son is preplexed. At this point, his father is described as walking toward blackest night-sight where no stars dare converge. In essence, he - and consequently, society- disappears at Son's turning-point process. Is it true of society that it leaves us with rules it has no intention guiding us through? Is this poem trying to tell us that the 'norms' may not necessarily be good? And that the voice of the people may not necessarily be the voice of God? It is assumed that if most people follow a particular pattern, then such a pattern is the right one. Does this poem contest such assumption?
The son is said to 'wonder and wander' because he understands not the superfluosly wise reply by his father. Are people wondering and wandering today because they have been pressured to live 'normally' - albeit pretentiously- instead of being themselves? This poem indeed poses many a question.

Undulations of a Thinking Mind

Does

The Idea

Of Being You

Make You Afraid ?


Does

It cause

You night's sleep?


I'm

Black today

And white tomorrow

Many shades of crystal

Tuesday of the coming week


But

I'm never

Ever ever myself

Any day, every week

It hurts to be me.

DEAR U (THIS IS NOT A POEM)



I've been trying to be me again
But I found out I was me any way
No matter what I do, be or say,
eat, dream or f*ck,
I'll always be plain old me.


My daddy said you're not the one I birth
I said, 'of course, don't be silly,
You'd birth a tiny baby,
I don't know if my science is what it should be,
But I believe all its cells have long died with it.'


When I was younger,
I had wanted to not be normal,
Be Superman or a vampire (the Vampire Diaries type)
Then I grew a bit and found out I was not normal,
Now I try hard to be like my mates - normal.



I now understand that 'normal'
is dependent on the eyes,
or otherwise,
the size (population)
of the considered normal.



I didn't try because
I was afraid I'd fail
I was afraid I'd fail
Because I was afraid
had no confidence
I was afraid I had no confidence
Because I was afraid...
It doesn't matter why,
I was afraid
Bottom line.



Dear U, be normal
Like everyone else,
never mind that everyone else
is trying to be normal.
We will all get there,
I assure you.



These words are writing themselves
But, oh, how they read my mind,
but miscue my ideas into an
unfinish.

VENT IT


When I said what I said
Why did you smile?
Why did you brush off
the ire in your eye?
Why did you lie?



When I did what I did?
Why did you blow out the light
So that I should see not
Your glistening tears?
Why did you lie?


If it hurts
It is you
Who cut yourself


If it chokes
It is you
Who smoked yourself


Why did you lie?
When I did that thing,
Why did you smile?