This house is not for bastard babies
For this is the commandment that I command you today. Treat these words like your bible.
To the one I first loved,
In this space was my first encounter with unrequited love which tossed me out of my shell into the real world. The quickest thing to detangle me from a web of naivety of my own making.
A poison and cure at the same time.
Even though I tried (I still try), I eventually learnt that you cannot claim a home that belongs to someone else.
To the ones who loved me,
In this space, I saw the kindest hearts and warmest eyes. I saw honesty, true desire and determination. I saw love in a tug-of-war with obsession and I saw souls darken at my slightest touch.
I am sorry I could never be enough for you even though you said I was. I am sorry I could never look you in the eye even after you said that you loved me.
I am sorry you caught me hiding but love I could never give back made me want to suffocate. It turned my insides and caused a slow fever…a slow death. It was the small flame capable of burning my house down. I felt like the pressure would bury me alive.
break hearts whose only sin was to love someone incapable of returning the favour.
Shut the door
I hope I do not have to say it twice.
I wonder how many bells I would have to ring and how many cymbals that would have to sing for you to get the message that your eviction notice is here. You sir, have overstayed your welcome in a place that ought not to have graced hands that crave the world and a tongue that sits the sweetest lies.
Get out of my house
I am no longer capable of inflicting this much pain on myself.
I can no longer turn blind to the sins of your past and present hovering over me like a slave driver’s whip.
I can no longer pretend that I can withstand every whiplash when every lash feels like a lick from the tongues of hell’s flames.
You cannot own me in my own home.
In a space I chose to let you in.
Get out of my house
You can no longer taste the sweet nectar between my inner thighs,
You can no longer bathe in my Niagara Falls.
Or fill your bucket from this well.
This house is not for sale
You have been warned. 419 beware.
You will not claim mine as your own.
You have not discovered this glorious treasure of national pride.
My River Niger.
And no sir, you will not have your drink from my delta.
You will learn, just like the world failed to teach Mungo Park,
that you cannot discover something that was already there, a home to its indigenes. You will not disrespect the fact that this body has been my home for years and claim to be the one to discover it.
You sir, are a guest so long as I deem you fit.
And if you try to live beyond your means, in a quest to reach my mouth,
This house is not for sale,
Neither is it for your pleasure and exploitation.
You reek of a false sense of entitlement
And I do not want you to leave the stench of your misogyny on my couch
Neither do I want to be infected with your myopia
Nor deal with any manifestation of self-hate and other Devils.
I will not have your dirty hands taint my walls.
I can not let your cracked feet graze my carpet.
Do you not know that this is a holy ground?
A temple. My temple.
So be careful with the lies you tell lest you get struck down by lightning
For I am no god to cleanse you of your sins. My holy water is not the one to cleanse or quench the thirst of philandering souls.
This house is not for bastard babies like you.
To the ones I thought I loved,
In this space, I have learned about the guilty pleasures of infatuation and its lasting scars.
Infatuated by thoughts of us, who we both were and the stories I could weave from our union. You somewhat showed me life so I took risks for you. I was ready to walk on coal heated by the fiery furnace of hell for you. Even though your hands were rough, your love was tough and your words were raw, I played along till I was certain I was no longer on this journey alone.
But I am sorry I woke up one morning and snapped out of my own illusion. It was selfish but I never thought that it would be you that’d get hurt.
In this space, I nurtured the love child of manipulation and indecision
I’m not sure if you were punishment for all my past sins but …
This house is not for sale.
This house is not for bastard babies.
Rinse and repeat till it is locked in.
Engrave these words on your heart’s stones. Cut open and feed your soul these words that should be your bible.
Tattoo these words on your forehead or bare chest. Be it in red, black or blue. Suit yourself, so long as you treat these words like bible.
My door is only open to hands that are gentle, not because I am fragile. Never that. Hands that will not make me shrink or shrivel at the slightest touch.
My door is only open to one whose voice I will not cower at the sound of and one who will not flinch once aware of my prowess.
My door is only open to safe spaces similar to mine.