….I wrote a poem.
Now, before you get all excited, it’s not a particularly good one. And I don’t mean that in an “it’s-really-very-good-but-im-just-being-humble” kinda way. It really, really is nothing spectacular. However, the fact that I actually produced something that can be called mediocre art, is in itself, a remarkable feat.
Those who know me, know that I’m a nothing short of a science nerd. I don’t do art. Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate good art. I go to galleries, I go to live music shows. I like art. I just can’t create it. If I have a template to work with, I’m good. But I find it very difficult to produce it from scratch.
So when I was jejely daydreaming learning in class one day, and my professor goes “I need everyone to write a poem about nature by next week”, my one thought was this:
Gbese.
(I can’t really translate that to English for the non-Yoruba speakers but it’s kinda like… “I’m in trouble!”)
After class, I actually had a word with him, explaining how poetry is not my thing, and if I tried to write anything of the sort, I would surely fail. My class was filled with English and Creative Writing majors, people that have been doing this for years. Don’t even ask what my major is, just know it’s at the complete opposite end of the spectrum.
This man blatantly refused my offer to write a research paper about nature instead, so I was stuck with this assignment.
Anyway, I gathered my wits and sat down with a notebook in my room and after about two hours, I had produced… absolutely nothing.
I mean, I thought long and hard but my brain’s creative centre was apparently on vacation. I willed it, begged it, bribed it to work: if you write me a poem, I promise to sleep for at least 8 hours tonight, if you write me a poem, I promise I’ll make you stop doing all my homework at the last minute, if you write me a poem, I promise I’ll stop killing your cells by sitting through back-to-back episodes of Jersey Shore when I’m to lazy to get up and change the channel. But it was just not having it. Eventually, I just gave up and decided to do some math instead.
However, because my grade depended on this, I decided to give it another shot the night it was due (don’t judge me). I sat outside, since I was supposed to be writing about nature and all. And this is what I came up with:
Two.
The blood slowly pools in the palm of my hand.
I steel myself and pull out the thorn
wincing against the angry throbbing pain.
No. It is my own anger I feel.
Not from the physical pain, but from the radical wave of emotions coursing through my body.
The very place I came to find solace has pierced my flesh.
Through my skin, physically. Through my heart, emotionally.
I love you. Why do you hurt me?
Jagged stones dig into my back, as I lay here.
Unmoving, uncaring.
I care not for the birds’ songs.
I care not for the blades of grass gently caressing my face.
Or for the dew drops falling from the leaves above.
Or for the gentle breeze lulling me to sleep.
I care for nothing.
Because like the thorn on the rose, they will lure me with beauty
And then pierce me.
I love you. Why do you hurt me?
Is it because I hurt you?
Because I trample you, burn you, cut you down?
Because I abuse you, take you for granted?
Because I look through you, not at you, as I go about my days?
Because I exploit you, haphazardly use you for my selfish gains?
You are beautiful. Why don’t I cherish you?
You hurt me. I hurt you.
But it’s a different kind of hurt.
You have no will to cause pain.
I have no willpower to curb my crassness.
You sing out to me, you bloom and I enjoy your aesthetic pleasures.
You are good to me.
I treat you like nothing. I don’t appreciate you.
But now, as I stroke the scar in the middle of my palm,
I resolve to revere you.
You should have seen how excited I was once I had put in the last full stop. It was unbelievable that my brain could fart out this many lines of poetry at 3 in the morning, after one too many caffeine shots. Handed this in at the nick of time, and my professor wrote back the next day; he was impressed. I then decided I actually quite enjoyed writing it, and started to explore other creative outlets.
I painted an “abstract” piece, because I can’t draw real shapes or a normal human face for the life of me.
I wrote a song on my guitar, it only has 3 lines, and they don’t even rhyme/make any discernible amount of sense.
I penciled down the beginnings of what could be a book, it’s barely a page and a half long and there are grammatical errors everywhere because I cringe every time I try to proofread it.
But still, I count all these as achievements because before I was ever pushed, I would have never thought to do any of them. I’m still a huge science nerd, but I think I shall begin to try developing my artsy side as well.
If you’re wise, you’ll collect my autograph now, so you don’t have to stand in a long line at my book signing in 5 years.
Ciao
- Tiwa.
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Had Pinkberry afterwards, yum!
Daddy hadn’t dressed up yet lol. But when he did the colour code that night seemed to be red white and black! We went out for dinner, nothing big or fancy just hearts full of thanks to the Almighty God and family that loves me to death! My number one people, I miss them so much! I got really lovely gifts as well, thank you so much to my darling friends who gave me the most amazing gifts and to everyone for the wishes and prayers as well!
