The Devil

the-devil

You are the devil;
the one who buys souls daily.
The media is your favourite demon,
feeding your every thirst for blood.
You are the mind-control.

To climb ladders of prestige,
people lose their souls to you.
Each one loses their sense of self,
renewing their sacrifice to you,
to be kept in the front pages.

You are a little less than inhumane.
Spirits and smiles die,
wells of passion run dry,
bodies become breathing shells,
when you make persons un-human.

You take the prize that has to be paid,
you make flesh your bread,
tears and sweat, your wine.
You are the media’s precious demon,
feeding its every thirst for blood.

You are the devil;
you are the mind-control.
Bodies become breathing shells,
people lose their souls to you,
to be kept in the front pages.

Outeraction

sunflower-5-daily-oil-by-Krista-Hasson

‘Sunflower’ by Krista Hasson

I’m running out of breath;
my sweat is overflowing.

My thighs are widely apart;
he’s in six-feet deep.

I can taste my tears;

I can’t feel my legs.

He’s giving me life but
I know this is deadly.


Whose grave is he digging?

Is it mine or his?

Will I die again 
or is this the good living?

Rebirth

'Longing in Silence by Aricadia

‘Longing in Silence’ by Aricadia

It is always hard-
cutting strong, karmic cords.
It’s like a birth experience;
isn’t it why we sometimes
cry in fetal positions?

In truth,
one is birthing oneself,
and conjoining different pieces
into one self.

Art and music help,
writing included.
Patience and hope are necessary

because the umbilical cord
that attaches one to the past,
to the old self,
always falls and seals off by itself,
gradually,
the pain leaves,
maybe even slowly,
and the memories and lessons are left.

Praise for the Sunflower

Sunflower

Oh, how beautiful you are!
Look at you;
see how grand you’ve become!
From your darkness came this light;
from your dark seeds of pain,
piercing, heart-wrenching pain,
came these beautiful, bright petals,
such awe-striking sight!
I want to lose myself in you;

you are the clearest, sweetest dream.
I want to find myself in you,
your royal highness,
Queen of Wands.

I adore you!

My Love, I Don’t Understand

Screen Shot 2019-05-31 at 3.14.35 PM

‘ Reclining Lady’ by Margaret Garcia

Baby, now that you’re out of flesh,
do you really still see me?
Do you rub my belly when we’re together alone?
Do you still hold my hand when I pee?

Darling, now that you don’t have a mouth,
can you still taste some of my food?
Do you still giggle when I dance unclad for you?
Do I still get you in the mood?

Honey, without your hands and arms,
can you feel my temperature when I’m ill?
Do you twitch my nipples and kiss my lips?
Is my love a thing you can feel?

My love, do you like my new waist beads?
I can’t tell, and it’s driving me crazy.
Why won’t you come take me,
so I can be with you?
Will we never make a baby?

Love ‘IsReal’- ‘MicHeal’ Jackson

paint

Painted by freckledmestiza

When I was in SS3 [last year of high school], my Literature-in-English teacher—Papa Ade—did something that I never forgot. Pa Ade was my father, so to speak, because I was living away from home at the time; I lived in the school’s girls’ hostel/dormitory. I called him ‘Baba’, and I spent a lot of time with him in his office and in the library. He was (and of course, still is) a senior [he taught one of my classmate’s mother], and that was enough reason for me to love him. Natally, I have Saturn in the 1st house, and as a child, I remember feeling very out of place, like the ugly duckling, among other children, but happy among the adults. I liked to listen to them, and terribly hated it when I was told to cover my ears or close my eyes or go play with my mates.

I loved Pa Ade, and I got very close to him. I was also very curious about him, about what had happened between him and his wife, and he told me all I needed to know. I couldn’t say the same about many of my classmates though. They found his style of teaching rather archaic, and the fact that we had to have a dictionary each time we had lessons with him really pissed a few off. He was very particular about it- expect to be flogged or embarrassed if you don’t have your dictionary. I genuinely liked to read to the class whenever I had a chance, and we would take turns reading parts of the books/novels, sometimes. I enjoyed Baba’s class very much.

I am an introvert, but I tried to portray myself as an extrovert in Senior Secondary School. I had been bullied/made fun of, a good number of times, in Junior Secondary School [which was a different school entirely] due to a supposed ‘lack of exposure’, and I wasn’t going to have it in Senior Secondary School. My mantra was a bit like “I don’t want nobody fucking with me in these streets.” Whether it brought me more hate or not, I don’t know, but I made it clear- I wasn’t going to be pushed around. Now that I’m older and I see that I have Lilith in the 5th house natally, ‘boom’, my feeling out of place among my mates as a child seems to make a lot of sense.

Where am I going with these memories? I don’t know. I’ll write more about my experiences in the future. None of these things that I keep remembering and mentioning has anything to do with this article; on second thought, maybe they all do.

Back to the occurrence that happened that I will never forget: Pa Adeniyi came to class one day and walked straight to Israel, my classmate. As it turned out, Israel had spelled his name as ‘Isreal’, and that had really pissed Baba off. He must have hit him with his rubber ‘cane’ [he hit me once with it in class before we got close, and it really hurt] if I remember clearly. Israel was livid. I guess it traumatized me since I began to pay more attention to my work, ensuring that I never made that mistake (or a similar one) from then on.

Lately, I have been typing or writing ‘Michael’ as ‘Micheal’ subconsciously, and then correcting it as quickly as I realize my mistake, sometimes embarrassingly, and I have found it very interesting. I had been ignoring it until I literally asked myself the ‘what for?’ question today. ‘I know how to spell ‘Michael’, and ‘Israel’; why is my brain ‘moving mad’ and acting this way?’ Then I looked closely and immediately realized what the message was- MicHEAL. I have been noticing 11:11s and 1:11s far more frequently than other number synchronicities lately, and I believe that this too, MicHEAL, is a message.

Michael Jackson is still very much a healer, even as a spirit, not only due to the messages/energies that he put out to the world via the music that he made when he was with us in the flesh, but because he is doing lightwork and awakening/communicating with lightworkers/healers, with the help of the angels and his spiritual squad, even though he doesn’t live like us anymore. Michael is not disturbed as a spirit due to all the lies that are being told against him. It is all for a purpose, and people are being awakened to the kind of soul that Michael really was and still is, much more than they were.

Being kind to one another, taking care of and loving children, being childlike but not childish- these and more were Michael’s messages. I don’t want to read too much into how I feel because it is not necessary. Whether this is a call for me to be encouraged in my healing work or address my suppressed emotions, I cannot profoundly claim to know. I know that it could be both.

Coincidentally, it is Children’s Day in Nigeria- May 27, and I have been trying to think of what to put out on my Instagram page to that effect. I thought about posting a video of Michael delivering a speech while he was receiving the NAACP Awards in 1993. I have attached the video to this post but this is my favourite part of what he said:

“In every person,
there is a secret song in their heart.
It says ‘I am free.
It sings ‘I am one’.
This is the natural feeling of every child-
to be free as the wind,
to be one with every other child.
All the trouble in the world is caused by forgetting this feeling,
and when I perform,
my connection is with the people,
just to remind me of that-
to be free and to be one.

Michael is telling us (like he has always done) that we should open ourselves up for healing, and by doing so, we will heal one another and heal our earth. The big question is ‘how’, and the answer appears to be simple, in theory, at least. We must be child-like; again, not childish, child-like. We must be forgiving (of others, and most-especially, ourselves), loving, kind, compassionate, and free.

We must return to what we once were before ‘life’ began, what we were sent to this consciousness to be. We must learn lessons without learning pain and bitterness, and if we have learnt bitterness, we must unlearn it. 

Love is real. 

The Priestess

The High Priestess (2018)

Painted by Kiarra Lynn Smith

The high priestess lives on her throne,
the wounded healer,
scarred to the bone.

Drenched in her own precious blood,
the tears she holds in                             
could make a flood.

The souls before her form a line,
her chants, the bread,
her music, the wine.

She closes her eyes to see and feel;
she was raised to serve,
uplifted to kneel.

Falling in Love is Masochistic

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Painted by John Park

I will never understand,
for as long as I live,
why people crave so hard,
why people ache so bad,
to fall in love.

I know that falling is nice,
falling is like flying,
and flying is nice,
but when the clock strikes 12,
one will have to pay the price.

Landing is tough,
landing is rough,
there are cuts on the face and neck,
and blood on the thighs and head.
The heart is broken into several pieces,
and air is taken out of the lungs.
The knees lose life and strength,
and the sides become so badly bent.

I hope they learn a lesson or two.
I stand by the scene and I watch,
hoping they’ll never, ever return,
but people climb on love’s hill again,
with smiles on their lips
and laughter in their mouths,
wobbling with a partner in hand,
to fall into that dark pit once more,
to die again.

What Have Love Do For Me?

Red Scar Peju Alatise

As I dey look you for eye,
your pity just dey do me for mind,
but the wahala wey you dey look for,
na the wahala wey you go find.

You dey shine eye well well but
e be like say you no dey see.
My body and blood don hot well well;
what have this love thing do for me?

I dey always do plenty things for man;
I dey cook all kind sweet sweet food.
Of all the man wey I don love,
las las, no one even do me good.

The palava wey love give me too much;
I no just get strength for pain again.
Abeg waka away comot from my front;
If I love you now, wetin I go gain?

The Cycle

GetAttachment

She holds the key to your heart,
after you hand it over to her,
and when things don’t work out between you,
she throws the key at you.
You pick the key up,
turn it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tell yourself that she has locked it for good,
as if she has the power to.

When you hold the key
to the heart of a new “she”,
after she hands it over to you,
you delightfully throw the key at her
when things don’t work out between you.
She picks the key up,
turns it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tells herself that you have locked it for good,
as if you have the power to.

Each person nurses their pain
and doctors their true feelings,
dwelling on past pain,
staying away from true healing,
until something or someone
shows up to show them

that the heart does not,
the heart does not need,
the heart does not need a key, anyway.