…Sharp objects always find their way to me so I prefer to use them, you know to utilise the available local resources,
It’s like there’s this attraction between my skin and a knife,
The goosebumps I get whenever I see a lighter I swear the thought of its flame be sending chills to my spine,
The only stress I be having is on where to cut myself next,
The regrets I got is that there’s no time I’ll get to say this burn is my best,
They think there are things killing me inside but…
My poetic journey dates way back to when I was a six year old girl bubbling with courage and confidence back in my village . I remember my beloved mom, Teacher Lydia Kageni, who taught English in upper primary would bring me story books and as I read the stories in there, I loved to discover new words which I would later use to form sentences or short paragraphs. Mom would then write me some short poetic pieces that I would go and recite in our local church as I was really eloquent and brave.
I was really good at the performances then and at a certain time, I even got the privilege to perform at a function with some prominent leaders in the country.
However as I grew older shyness overcame the confidence that I initially had and I did not get to interact with poetry again up until I got to university.
I like to say that poetry first loved and chose me even before I realized the love that I had for it. Poetry defines me, It speaks to me in a language that only my soul can understand. Poetry has healed a part of my heart that I didn’t even know existed and from a young age, I feel that poetry had a larger percentage in my DNA.
An Hurt-ist by Nkatha Faith.
There's no clue that can ever link me to an artist who draws, what did we call them painters I guess, or drawers ,something of the sort,
And even as I grew up I came to accept the fact that I couldn't even draw a perfect line or curves, my body is a witness,
So I diverged into another form of drawing,
The type where no art space is demanded and No qualifications are called for,
I don't have to worry about the ink running out cause not even once have I used a pen,
My canvas can accommodate a lot and I don't believe in errors,
Every drawing is an original copy and it's outcome is always perfect ,
I don't commercialise my art because only me understand what each and every potrait means,
I don't display them to the world not even my closest persons know about this hidden talent,
I look at them not with pride but with some contentment inside.
My favourite paint is always red,
I love how it trickles down my drawing book ,
It's sight helps not to relieve rather distract my mind for a while,
For a while because I'd still go back to drawing every time I'm triggered,
My drawings are in no particular order just random similar things scribbled down in a hurry,
They are hidden, they are forbidden and not that I would like to risk being caught in the art.
Sharp objects always find their way to me so I prefer to use them,you know to utilise the available local resources,
It's like there's this attraction between my skin and a knife,
The goosebumps I get whenever I see a lighter I swear the thought of its flame be sending chills to my spine,
The only stress I be having is on where to cut myself next,
The regrets I got is that there's no time I'll get to say this burn is my best,
They think there are things killing me inside but I know I am my own pest,
The only reason I can't shower with cold water is not because I am afraid of the freshenss it brings that included but also because there's this feeling I get with hot water,
And by a hot shower my understanding is steam covering my body ,skin all heated up until I can smell myself roasted,
I like the pain as the geothermal-like energy overpowers my body,
Then I can cool down with some tears as a blade finds its way inside my inner thighs,
Perfect combination for this dead soul.
- Stories From Young African Poets: Ngatha Faith’s definition And DNA. - March 5, 2025
- Stories From Young African Poets: To love a “no name” And Zainab Tijani Mohammed. - February 11, 2025
- Stories Of Young African Poets: Sounds And Rhymes Of Timi Sanni. - February 2, 2025
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