A poem about myself in which everything written is a lie.
A letter to my 9 year old self.
A letter to all the boys in the past, hoping they got exactly the things they left me for.
I like Nnamdi but he doesn’t see me. Nnamdi, dearest Nnamdi, won’t you like me too?
I’m in a room filled with people. Everyone sees me and says hi. I reply sweetly with endearments. Gosh! There are so many people here! Some shake me, some hug me. Others playfully pull my hair. I look pretty with my smile. My make-up and clothes are perfect. I am confident, that’s what they see. […]