ADULTING || 15 POEMS FOR ADULTS WHO WANT TO BE CHILDREN AGAIN

Hello Royalty.

The process of getting your life together can be such a big deal, so much that you begin to feel like a mess. They call it “adulting” right? Yes, I can relate with all those inadequacies, so here are a few notes for you when you feel nothing like the shining star, but everything like the diapers, empty tins of milk and twisted straws tied up in that black bag.

For you…

 

I.

Today, I woke up

And I hit my left foot on the ground first.

Mama would have called it a bad omen.

So, I quickly got on my knees.

Jesus. I am tired.

Take all of my weaknesses and inadequacies,

Take all of my frailties and weariness

And exchange them.

Exchange them for your peace.

Exchange them for your strength.

 

II.

They said “Be yourself.”

Why not start with “Know yourself”

For how possible is it

To be who I don’t know.

 

III.

Adulthood is the synonym

for uncertainty.

 

IV.

They have come

Ehen? monitoring spirits…

What have we on the morning news?

They have come to probe me

“Do you have a job now?”

“What next?”

“When will you get married too?”

“Ah long time. Our iyawo”

Then they smirk

“How are the children?”

Knowing very well

That there’s none yet.

 

V.

Instagram is a part of life.

Having an account may be important.

But living,

Living without filters:

That one is importanter.

 

VI.

In between taking the risks and staying careful,

You will find insanity.

Insanity which sees possibility.

Insanity like the nature of

your dreams and imaginations.

Insanity like the goals which haunt you

at the break of dawn.

Insanity that is really sane,

if you think again.

 

VII.

A graduate.

What? 24?

You are now a big girl oh.

Congratulations!

And so the journey begins

with phone calls of ecstasy,

and testimonies of

“Pinch me and tell me it’s actually real”

But the journey continues,

the journey continues with determination.

VIII.

Yesterday,

away from the bustle and yellow of Lagos,

I had a naming ceremony

for my goals.

Perfection is not it.

Progress is the baby’s name.

 

IX.

Wayo Wayo no be comeback option.

Its hammer will drive no nails in.

 

X.

Ugly.

Worthless.

Full of shit.

And you?

You permit the words to slip

Into the bowls of your head.

Broken yolk and albumen,

Waiting to be whisked

By insecurity and depression.

But don’t you see?

Don’t you see cataract in their eyes?

 

XI.

Impact or Famepact?

Which do you strive for?

It will always be influence over popularity.

Don’t listen to the lies.

 

XII.

Ore,

Come closer.

The next time their Adam’s apples

dance in their throats,

Or their hips take up all your space,

Only to tell you “You know you can’t make it”

Ore,

Say nothing,

but remember to pack your bags.

 

XIII.

I know “dream” is the first word

in your dictionary,

“goals” is the second, and

“influence” is the third.

But I’m looking for another,

I’m looking for “consistency.”

 

XIV.

Don’t say no one told you

adulting will be hard.

These are not things to tell.

No one tells a caterpillar it will

become a butterfly,

But it is consumed

By a compulsion to transmogrify

And you too,

with all your yearnings to make it,

must fly.

 

XV.

Evolving?

Adulting?

I call it

Seriously dependent on Jesus.

 

Leave a comment if you can (that really means please leave a comment!).

Goodbye Royalty,

With Overflowing Love,

Alexandra Zion.