Spoken Word Poems

Posted: November 27, 2011 in Uncategorized

Hello everyone.
So a few weeks ago, a friend of mine read some of the poetry I wrote and invited me to recite/perform at her event. She’s the president of the Honors Society here at AUN and they were raising money for charity. I was happy to participate and I read out two poems, one I wrote specifically for the event and one I wrote a while ago. I was nervous as fuck but the performance went very well and people liked it. So instead of asking for emails to send them out, Wole said I shld post them on my blog and let people read them.
The first one is called ‘My mama told me’ and the second is called ‘My love’. Hope you like. 🙂

my mama told me

I asked my mama one day
Why I couldn’t read well
I asked my mama
Why words were jumbled up in my brain all the time
I asked my mama why the kids made fun of me so much
Because when I read things out in class, they didn’t come out right
And it wasn’t because I was African
I asked my mama why I was so different from the others

The doctor said I was special
My mama said ‘No, she’s just plain stupid’
Have you ever heard of a Nigerian girl having dyslexia?
I am a full functioning human being
But my brain is so messed up that when I read words; they jumble up
I’m a twenty year old Nigerian student who has to survive on SpellCheck to pass and get good grades
When I write, I have to depend on my brain not to screw up, but you can’t turn it off or on
When I write stories, they always asked why things were spelt wrongly
I just tell them “I’m dumb”
Cos that’s what my mama said

Have you ever asked a friend how to spell the word ‘boy’?
Or ‘maybe’?
I have
And it wasn’t because I had dyslexia
No, it was because I was dumb
My mama said so
My teachers paid special attention to me
They said I was special
That I would make it no matter what
My mama said I was dumb
I wrote a story for my teacher, one day
She said it was beautiful
That I would make a great writer one day
I showed my mama and she said
‘Chuck it away child. It won’t amount to nothing.
Your different.
You can never become a writer.
You can never write the songs, the aspirations or the beauty within and around you
All you can do is depend on SpellCheck and hope
Pray that a nice man will look over your stupidity and notice your smile instead’
My mama said I was dumb
I just think I’m special, different from the others

my love

Humor me
Yes, I want you to humor me and tell me how my body is meant to look like
Educate me, inform me and tell me the rules, the guidelines, the regulation I’m meant to follow
To be a perfect 10
Because when I was born I wasn’t given a textbook
I wasn’t given lessons in ‘Perfect body 101’
Never went for class, had teachers or wrote exams in this particular disciple
But I had magazines, telling me I’m too fat to ever look good
I had the TV showing me different ways of throwing up and hiding an eating disorder
I had billboards showing me skinny girls looking glamorous and otherworldly
And like growing naïve young girl I believed and swallowed everything I saw
I put myself down so low I’m surprised I’m still standing
Starved myself and forced myself to believe that I was not good enough
Not pretty enough
Not perfect enough
I wanted to look like the girls in the magazines
Tall, skinny, with long hair and green eyes
The way I look now should show I did not succeed
After almost dying and a year of therapy I realized I was being a great big fool
I realized that no one sets a standard for something that belong to me
No one should tell me how to look and how to smile
No one tells me what my body is meant to look like
No amount of magazine covers and music videos will make me order for grass instead of a nice juicy cheese burger
No amount of stares and whispers will make me rethink a dinner order
No man will make me feel ugly because I don’t look like the girls he stares at all day on the computer
I love my body
I love every single contour, scar, freckle, spot and piece of my body
I love my mother Theresa arms even though I look like I have extra chicken skin hanging off my arms
I love that when I walk my thighs jiggle
Thunder thighs I hear they are called
I love my chubby cheeks that make me look cute
Without them I would be … let’s not think about that
I love my thick dirty brown hair
Sure it’s a hassle to comb but the feeling of not buying weaves and spending money in the saloon is worth it
I love my body
I love the fact that I’m shaped differently
And I’m not another clone tailored and fashioned to society’s ridiculous standards
I love the fact that you can’t find another me splatted on the pages of a superficial magazine
I love the fact that I’m special, unique, and different from all the other girls
Though it’s wahala buying jeans with these hips of mine
And looking for products for my hair
It’s all worth it in the end
Because it is all pure unadulterated me

Will post a new story soon. I have exams and ish coming up so I’m mega busy.
Bye guys :*

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Comments
  1. phantompages says:

    I want to attend a spoken word event 😦 I wanna read too 😥 I like the poems! They deal with real issues affecting everyday people. (Y)

  2. terdoh says:

    That 1st poem was the shit.

    That 1st poem shit on the shit. 😐

    Amen.

  3. GenesisMyNameIz says:

    i actually felt for the Dyslexic persona. 😦 Nice Poems babe. I await the Promised Promise. 😀

  4. ibetapassmynebo says:

    Sucess in ur exams
    U are perfect the way you are
    Learn to appreciate ursef everyday
    It is well. . .

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