I Will Always Love You

Even though I’m not fully sure what love really is. 

I know that if anything bad happened to you, I would be worried. 

More so than if it happened to any random person. 

But my way of feeling despair for others seems abnormal. 

And I can’t understand it. 

I like seeing you laugh, though I may not admit it. 

I enjoy you at ease

Cracking jokes that aren’t even funny.

But I laugh anyway. I’m not sure why. 

I don’t know if I always did,

But I know for certain that I look up to you. 

I admire you because you seem to be everything I don’t know if I can be.

Dependable

Reliable

Capable 

Of being a pillar for someone.

Of tolerating it all while staying clean in your dignity 

You don’t tell much and you remain respectable. 

Admittedly, I can’t say I know much about you. 

But I sometimes wonder what you really think. 

In truth, I want to know what everyone thinks. 

But the gap between you and me is for sure the widest. 

We are truly so alike, I see that.

Why then are we so far apart? 

And why can we never fully relate with one another?

There’s a wall

It’s there all the fucking time

I have no idea how to break it.

I’m scared to..

But I certainly want to.

If you could look back, what is one thing you would change?

Did you become what your youth had hoped?

Why do you always yell?

What is it that made you so explosive?

You’re not an open person.

Nor an easy one. 

And I’m a lazy person.

I give up easy, and get bored fast.  

Because if you put enough effort into anything, you will surely get depressed when it doesn’t work out. 

But you will be depressed either way, in theory and in thought.

But I find the depression wears less in feeling if things are left well alone. 

Men of your nature.

I cannot begin to understand them.

“Women belong in the kitchen.”

“Get married to someone of your blood.”

“Be modest, polite and obedient.”

“Do not raise your voice and always wear proper clothes.”

“Get me this”

“Get me that”

I hear not a please, nor a thank you.

Most who say it rarely mean it. 

However, they are words so easy.

Uttered with no effort. 

Is it too much to ask?

Basic courtesy.

Why, even were you not taught this from a young age?

The things I was taught.

Did you call your sisters and perhaps your mother without basic manners?

Oh forgive me, this too would be rude of me to ask?

My words are far too harsh. 

And again, you never listen. 

Is it because you are a man or is it because you are a man of such origin?

Or is it just a thing of personality?

An irreversible gene of the blood?

I ask you not to understand. For even if you try, I doubt you ever will.

I just wish for you to listen, know. 

But you won’t even do that. 

I hate that. 

I hate people who don’t listen, concluding they are right before opposing opinions are even expressed. 

It is simply demeaning, sad, pitiful even for one to think they know it all, their ways are always the correct one, they are always the one misunderstood. 

It is not to agree, but to know and to understand by God’s grace. 

It reminds me of something dark, haunting. 

Something absolutely infuriating. 

I no longer remember how I got such distaste. 

But that hardly matters. 

Pushing a few buttons a few times is all it takes to spoil any impression anyone could imprint in a person’s mind.

Such impressions may not feel like much.

But they certainly last a long time and though they may fade, always remain.

Even as a slight feeling, a silent inkling. 

I will always love you.

However, I hate those that are like you.

Stressful. Entitled, maybe for the right reasons, but that matters little to me. 

Misogynistic to the core. Infuriatingly silent, yet somehow silently dominating. Overruling,even

Fortified to a fault.

Mysterious. And never ready to utter an apology or admit any wrongdoing. 

I’m almost sure you are of a humble nature, but you often prove to be prideful. 

Culture is a deep indent in us all.

That is clear enough. 

For some, it is a guide, a faint awareness, enlightenment. 

Others, a lifeline, a globe, a world. 

For me, it is in most cases, a bother, a pain, a wound, a trap, a bubble. 

I never wish to be trapped. To be trapped meets me as to be ignored, shut down and silenced. 

And I hate it just as much. To be free is the bare minimum of a life.

Free will is all in a human’s dignity.

My choices, my own.

My clothes, my own.

My voice, my own.

My love, my own.

My wishes, mine.

My ambitions, mine.  

None of that will ever be yours. 

And yet, things are different.

I am trapped by you. By this place guarded and occupied by you.

I do wish things could change.

I do wish things could be different. 

And in fact, I wonder how we would relate under different circumstances.

On unknown, and so, equal ground.

Without them, nobody to shield you, nor me

Do you think we could be friends?

Acquaintances, maybe? 

Enemies? 

You think we would be even worse than we are now?  

Well, even so there would simply be nowhere to run, except away of course. 

And still, that would be better than this. 

I can’t do this. 

Too many layers, too thick to unstack 

Everything’s a code, a riddle.

And it’s all too complex to crack. 

A time when things were not so complicated.

Ignorance was never so bliss. 

Such things of an incredibly unconcerned mind,

One of thoughts too far to catch, too quick and unspecific to see.

And far too fleeting to recall.

However, that was then.

Now..

Now I see clearly. I recall it all. 

And I am in fact deeply concerned.

As much I am for you as I am for me.

You for who you are as a person and not your position, your responsibilities. 

I split the two. I am really only interested in one. 

So I will always love you, daddy. That will never change. 

But I don’t know how I feel about you without fatherhood. 

Without the obligations, the title, the respect and that cloak of supposed elevation. 

I also don’t know if I can soon get past not knowing. 

And that sours me. Worries me. Bothers me. It haunts me. Everyday. 

I will always love you, daddy. That will never change. 

But what if I don’t? And what if it does? 

about the poet

I’m a Nigerian, 16 years old, and a first-generation immigrant to Canada. I love fashion, art, music, singing, dancing and acting, any form of art and expression. I love the raw openness and versatility of it all. Art is completely personal and unpredictable, the possibilities endless. Writing is the one hobby and talent I’ve always known I have. I turn to poetry as a coping mechanism whenever I’m feeling intense emotions I can’t handle, good or bad. Not being able to write creatively would be like taking out my heart and half of my brain. It’s that important to me.