Biography
I love being listened to that's why I write so uniquely, and as painful as it seems I fight the notion within myself that I was made to be something. I became an archive of words.
Behind the Creaking wooden door
Behind the creaking wooden door laid a beast in the darkness that religion used to keep us in check. To keep us away from the truth beyond the hedge the holy book orchestrates. I don't know what to feel anymore. Perhaps our only default is to rely on what our parents believed in. On what they have imbued in us. Behind the creaking wooden door laid scripts and new Latin translation that tells more truth than the King James Version. A fallacy they say. Slander they announce my death with lying tongues. Corpulent men with sweaty backs pronounce my sentence to the jury of those who seem to know more about the holy grail. Who seems to know about the death of a sister who knew more than they expected. Everything was made out of nothing by a word that brought theorems that orchestrated occults that threaten those who are supposed to be anointed, but yet their loved ones still die and they would announce that it was a test. Such peace I dearly say loved ones. I could pretend I didn't hear how they creaked out of the wooden door to copulate with harlots in ikoyi hotel. The seminary was the greatest. Such ministerial misconception. If you don't pray you are a sinner and ask me what do I believe in? Such therapy breaks my conformity with self-esteem. A taste of virgin blood at crusade to conquer the somewhat lost world of free thinkers, and the enlightened. With rage, they convey detailed contempt to whatever I have to offer, as long it's not in line with the doctrine. The rules of belief. The code of conduct. So much pain I see in eyes of hoping widows that hoped the new spark would be the only child that died before he began to ignite. Such hatred and jealousy. Behind the creaking wooden door, told so much of freedom in choices that ended in a chaplain sleeping with a somewhat handmaid and blaming gentle choir boys. Nevertheless, none was perfect.
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