Lost

IMG_20160429_230557Some days after I thought about running away and comfortable suicide attempts, I started doing ‘things’. Like I would put the bath gel on my toothbrush instead of  toothpaste. Or empty the refuse inside the WC instead of the bin outside. Or wear the right leg of my shoe on my left foot. Sometimes I totally forgot to wear my underwear till I was locking the door to go out. People talk about loosing their minds. But in my case, I didn’t even have a mind to loose. My mind was inexistent. I walked to work, partly because I was broke but mostly because I could burn under the sun without it looking weird or feeling guilty. I had long conversations with my reflection. Really long ones that lasted for hours. I’d just sit in front of the mirror and do the talking while my reflection did the listening and always asked questions when she was a bit lost. A friend once described me to someone as “strange”. But I’m not. In reality, if you get to live inside my body and borrow my mind for a day, you’d call me crazy, or Looney, or even worse.
I started reading books again. I thought it would be good if I was living in someone else’s world. It was going very well until I came across The Perks Of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. There’s a poem in the book I’ll share with you and that’ll be our little secret too. Here it goes:
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines  he  wrote  a  poem  And  he called  it  “Chops”  because  that  was  the  name  of  his  dog And  that’s  what  it  was  all  about  And  his  teacher  gave  him  an  A  and  a  gold  star  And  his mother hung it on the kitchen door and read it to his aunts That  was  the year  Father  Tracy took  all  the kids  to  the zoo  And  he let  them  sing  on the  bus  And  his  little  sister  was  born  with  tiny  toenails  and  no  hair  And  his  mother  and father  kissed  a  lot  And  the girl  around  the  corner  sent  him  a Valentine signed  with  a row  of  X’s  and  he  had  to  ask  his  father  what  the  X’s  meant  And  his  father  always  tucked him  in  bed  at  night  And  was  always  there  to  do  it.
Once  on  a  piece of  white paper  with blue lines  he  wrote a  poem  And  he called  it  “Autumn”  because  that  was  the name of  the season  And  that’s  what  it  was  all  about  And  his  teacher  gave  him  an  A  and  asked  him  to write  more  clearly  And  his  mother  never  hung  it  on  the  kitchen  door  because  of  its  new paint  And  the  kids  told  him  that  Father  Tracy  smoked  cigars  And  left  butts  on  the  pews And sometimes  they  would  burn  holes  That  was  the  year  his  sister  got  glasses  with  thick lenses  and  black frames  And  the girl  around  the corner  laughed  when  he  asked  her  to go  see  Santa  Claus  And  the  kids  told  him  why  his  mother  and  father  kissed  a  lot  And  his father  never  tucked  him  in  bed  at  night  And  his  father  got  mad  when  he  cried  for  him  to do it.
Once on  a  paper  torn  from  his notebook he  wrote a  poem  And  he called  it “Innocence:  A  Question”  because  that  was  the  question  about  his  girl  And  that’s  what  it was  all  about  And  his  professor  gave him  an  A  and  a  strange  steady look And  his mother  never  hung  it  on  the kitchen  door  because he  never  showed  her  That  was  the year  that  Father  Tracy  died  And  he  forgot  how  the  end  of  the  Apostle’s  Creed  went  And he caught  his  sister  making  out  on  the back  porch  And  his  mother  and  father  never kissed  or  even  talked  And  the  girl  around  the  corner  wore  too  much  makeup  That  made him  cough  when  he kissed  her  but  he kissed  her  anyway because  that  was  the thing  to do  And  at  three a.m.  he tucked  himself  into  bed  his  father  snoring  soundly.
That’s  why on  the back  of  a  brown  paper  bag  he tried  another  poem  And  he  called  it  “Absolutely Nothing”  Because  that’s  what  it  was  really  all  about  And  he  gave himself  an  A  and  a slash  on  each  damned  wrist  And  he hung  it  on  the  bathroom  door  because  this  time he didn’t think he could reach the kitchen.
I’ve not finished the book. But I can tell you this: it’s getting bad. Really bad for me. And you know the scariest part of it all? I’m not scared. Not one bit.

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9 Comments Add yours

  1. Toni says:

    I just read your last three posts. They were enlightening yet mysterious. Your words are clear, honest and pure. Not rehearsed but simple . I envy the fact that you can convey messages without trying too hard. Your work inspires and speaks to me. Thank you and keep on keeping on

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Trump says:

    Nice story…Hmm I think I now understand you better.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. oyinaraoye says:

      Dear Trump, nothing I write is a story. Nothing. I don’t want you to read this and understand me. I want you to read this and think of what the world looks like if you weren’t using your own eyes look. I want you to read this and ask yourself questions like “do these things really happen?” I’m glad you read it. But I’d be happier if you understood it.

      Like

  3. Trump says:

    Dear Oyinda,
    When I said story I didn’t mean fiction, I meant life story. And don’t worry, I perfectly understood all your posts. I really love “SHORTCOMINGS”, It was great!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. oyinaraoye says:

      ‘Happier’ can’t describe it. I’m honestly glad you do, because that’s the whole point. Thanks a lot.

      Like

  4. oyinaraoye says:

    Thank you Toni. I’m glad I can convey these almost unconsciously. For once I’m short of words.

    Like

  5. keriva says:

    We always have what to say. we always have a story to tell. but only those who can stay quiet and listen ever become really good at painting pictures with words. I love your words. they are honest and down to earth and it perfectly illustrates the struggle some people deal with in their closets. Alot of people try to find comfort during these times and I’m glad you find solace in writing. the best things are written when we are true in our feelings. I look forward to following you.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. oyinaraoye says:

    Keriva, I tried looking for a smiley to put up here that could describe how I really felt after reading your comment. I didn’t find any. These are simply words with powers. I’m honored that you’ve read this with your heart and not your eyes. Thank you.

    Like

  7. keriva says:

    You are welcome…

    Like

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