E y e s & L i e s

Is it true that your eyes tell a story?

Is it true that they hold the glory of your past?

Is it true that they display the shame of your yesterday?

Or do they just hide the lies yet untold?

Your love for her yet to unfold.



It was those same eyes that gave me joy to behold.

No wonder she finds delight in them too.

And boy do they shine for her, glisten and light up for her.

Now I’m left with blank spaces lacking capacity to love my galaxies.

How did we get here lover?



Maybe my eyes were bursting with so much colour and dreams that scared you.

So you chose black and white, brown and white.

Something calm, someone whose fire wasn’t wild.

Maybe my eyes witnessed your every flaw and still had much love for you and you felt undeserving.

Or maybe we never saw eye to eye to begin with.



Even though my eyes have cried tears for you.

Even though my eyes have been shut tight in prayer for you.

Even though my eyes have lost sight of the truth for you.

Even though my eyes tell the story of a lost lover.

Even though,

I want you to know that

These eyes will always behold you with your imperfections yet still love you.

These eyes will beautify your soul and shine for you.

These eyes will be waiting for you to come home.

                                                        ©    O.M

Running the race of the narrow path

I am not giving up

I am not giving up.

I will continue

To strive for perfection,

To embrace holiness,

To achieve purity.

I will continue to believe in righteousness.



I strive for perfection and striving is what I do.

Pursuing after righteousness with sin as close as my shadow.

Sometimes I stop running and my shadow catches up too.

The extra weight hinders my progress, I become slow.

“Sin, please I need a break.

My legs are tired and my knees have begun to shake.”

The guilt and condemnation sits heavy on my head causing my shoulders to ache.

This crown of sin I don’t want but i just can’t seem to shake.

So I harlem shake off course.

Right there, I lost sight of my main focus.

Even though everything felt fine, I was at a loss.

Desperately searching for somewhere to dump this cross.



Cross? I remembered the cross

And He who paid it all.

The ultimate price was the shedding of His blood that went

Drip drop drip drippity drop.

He who knew no sin was made to become sin on our behalf so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.

Therefore, I have been made right in God’s sight.

Bought and brought into the kingdom of light.

That memory should give us strength to fight.

So I become a freedom fighter, I fight for my freedom.

Freedom from the shackles of sin.

Guilt and condemnation cannot stand when my God comes into the scene.

Hallelujah you have won the victory and given me the win.

And this is my testimony yeah, I once was a slave to sin,

Once bound but now I’m free.



I am free to continue my race .

And I can’t even afford to trip on my shoe lace.

Can’t get distracted by the world calling my name.

Leaving in the dust behind me, every blame and shame.

So I run into obedience, slam into purity and dance with peace.

I grow and increase with divine ease.

With the Holy Spirit as my coach, I inch closer and closer.

And when the enemy comes again, do not be fooled, he will come again.

Here’s a tip you might find handy.

Tell him you have received sanctification through redemption.

Let him know you are saved by grace, renewed by the Spirit, redeemed by mercy and loved by the Almighty God.

And lastly, tell him gerrariahere mehn.

Now watch him run his race in the opposite direction.




                             ©  O.M




See, these thoughts are buzzing in my head.

Spreading everywhere, transported by the red in me.

Allow me use the silence of this moment to cough out these words

Because I can feel them slowly sucking the air out of me.

So let me cough them out before they suffocate me.

Please bear with me.




Home feels very far away

And I’m just inhabiting space upon space.

Home feels like my father’s sturdy arms on my shoulder and my mother’s care wrapped around my heart.

Home sounds like my brother’s jokes and my sister’s endless chatter.

Home feels very far away

And on a subtle level my heart is being tugged by another in Benin.

I’m just inhabiting space.

My name is Macaulay but I’m not home alone.

This house is just lonely.




Believe me, life is a beautiful thing.

I see the beauty in the irony.

With iron hands parents try to straighten “curved” children.

That somehow explains the beautiful tragedies I see walking around.

With voices crying out louder you believe someone would take notice but when everyone is getting silenced

Shhhhh you just might be next.

I was telling Sandra, Mike and Tamir how Bland the Brown Rice served in the cafeteria tasted.

They know nothing about that now.

When the minority begins to seek solidarity, that should make you question the popularity of the majority.

I dream in black and white but my reality is muddled up in grey.

Sometimes I wish I could colour some things in and make them permanent.

But Miss Saggaff said I wasn’t great at Art so I’ll pass.




Hold on now, I’m still coughing.

It’s serious if I’m coughing blood yeah?

You see these trailer jams haven’t exactly been easy.

Brutal something.

Everyone is coming for everyone.

I wish watching my back was even enough.

People aren’t scared to look you right in the eye and stab you these days.

So brothers and sisters can we hashtag the word front stab and make that trend?




I saw this question a few days back

“If you could write a note to your younger self, what would you say?”

It really got me thinking.

I’ll just leave myself a reminder right here to make sure I write this down later.


I’ll tell her to cry more.

I’ll tell her to feel more.

I’ll tell her these things don’t make her look weak, rather they’ll become parts of her worth embracing.

I’ll tell her to write more.

And I’ll tell her she’s doing a great job and give her a pat on the back because I’m extra like that.




Tonight he’ll drown the pain with burning gold.

And as it slithers down his throat he’ll wish it could burn off the shame clinging to his frame.

He downs down alcohol and the mercury in his courage-o-meter rises.

Liquid courage for the encounter he’s heading home to.

She’ll start with the alcohol on his breath and the false accusation that a woman’s scent lingers on his shirt.

Then she’ll get really angry when he asks her to keep her voice down because the kids are asleep.

A swift prayer goes up as her fists connect with his jaw.

Yes his wife beats him and he is too ashamed to say.

Well before you dish out the blame and give him a very generous serving.


I can still hear your thoughts screaming weak, nonsense, rare, impossible.

I can see the pity too.

He doesn’t need that, he needs a voice.

He needs to know that he can be heard when he cries out and that he will be adequately attended to.

He needs to know that people are fighting for him just as much as they are for his female counterpart.




So my friend is being lied to.

I don’t know if I should sip this tea

Or make it my business.

I’m scared she’ll think it my plan to join the #MoveToBoys2016 clan starting with hers.

Or as always she’ll throw the whole “you’re just jealous” ball in my face.

But I’m getting tired of picking the pieces and packing the faeces.

I really want to smack her hard.

Is violence really the answer or silence?

Should I stay or up up and away?




Well this cough is subsiding.

Thanks for your patience and shout out to Benylin.




                                   ©  O.M

My Name Is Stigma.

Allow me to introduce myself.
My name is stigma.
Of course, I don’t need an introduction. You know me, they know me.
Everyone knows me.


I eat at the fabric of your identity.
Sometimes I call you out on things beyond your control.
I am what members of society attach to you.
So when they look at you, all they see is me.
It is only natural for me to execute my job with severity.
So you were innocently convicted.
Who cares?
I’ll make sure the label ‘murderer’ hangs heavily over your head.
So that your truth does not matter, and all your potential employer sees is that image depicted.
Even when you’re clean and out of rehab, your sister will silently worry that you’re addicted.


I attach shame to your birth.
I know it’s not fair on you, no you shouldn’t suffer for your mother’s actions.
You and your putative father come to the realization simultaneously.
“Sir, I’m sorry to tell you that the DNA test we conducted reveals that this is not your son.”
Don’t tell anyone but the gardener contributed to your presence on earth.
As you walk down your neighborhood, their whispers form tendrils that wrap around you.
It is my doing, give me credit.


Don’t you see me on your lunch table?
That’s odd because I’m the only one there.
I feel bad for chasing your friends away so I keep you company.
JOKES. They’re tired of your ways.
“Is she the only one who loves God?” “It’s annoying how she always talks about the Bible.”
You’re on the right path.
But I don’t want them to know.
“I feel she will judge me because she probably thinks herself holier.”
It’s annoying how all my efforts don’t even faze you, you still show everyone love.
You stand the ugliest of my wrath.


When you enter a room, I make the colour of your skin more noticeable.
Gives people ample justification when their stereotypical views come out to play.
Normally, where you’re from should be irrelevant;
But that is exactly what I make significant.
Women hold their purses a little tighter, criminal is your label.
Terrorist is your middle name.
I know the media doesn’t even make things better.
Maybe you should hide the fact that you’re German,
Because I’ll automatically make them remember Hitler.
Don’t be surprised, I told you I am the master of this game.


You hide your cuts under your sleeve.
I really can’t say which hurts you more:
That those who should care don’t notice or that those who notice look at you with fear in their eyes.
You can’t blame them, it’s called ‘mental illness’ after all.
I blind their eyes, no one sees they are slowly depriving you of your will to live.
Yes, they would rather maintain a social distance.
And the existence of your bipolarity is either denied or it becomes a prayer point.
Even though there is Mental Awareness Week,
I make these labels stick.
Take ‘Crazy’, ‘Weird’ and ‘Sad’ for instance.


Your tale is a funny one.
You warmed Jake’s bed and Ore’s too.
Oh, wait! There was Tom’s and Tobi’s also.
Then the day came where you had to point out your baby’s daddy.
But when asked you couldn’t tell which one.
It didn’t really matter anyway since you killed that son.
You couldn’t bear the risk of infecting him you said.
The humiliation the news of your status brought your parents was sad to watch.
I, STIGMA stood through it all.
Your disgrace was fun.


I am angry.
I’m raging.
My fame is dramatically reducing, society has begun to shun me.
Awareness this, awareness that. NO! NO! NO!

My presence in society is slowly diminishing, no one is feeding me. I AM HUNGRY.
People are accepting one another more these days.
Paying no mind to what should naturally cause them shame.

Everything is being portrayed in a better light.
Everyone has become a stigma fighter.
I guess society often changes its ways.




©  O.M


This week has brought with it one bad news or the other.
I heard she fainted while leaving the office, dear mother!
I earnestly hoped it wasn’t cancer but the test results laughed in my face asking
“Why even bother?”

Chemical engineering proved all my long nights and library hours worthless.
And I cried and cried because I genuinely put in my best.
That didn’t make the pain any less but I sure was left a scholastic mess.
Yet I cannot get out of my head: ‘fluid mechanics’ and ‘separation process’

You know how Alexandra was going to school in Minnesota?
Yes, I said was.
All I heard when her mum called was “shot” “dead”
“I thought as her best friend, you would like to know” she said.
I slept off crying about how the cop who did it would get away with it, that was Wednesday.

Thursday I couldn’t get out of bed.
Heavy were my legs and with everything else, I just could not!
Monday’s fear came rushing in, left my chest in a knot.
I promise you, I fought. I really did try but I didn’t have a shot.

Thank God it’s Friday.
Maybe by its end I wouldn’t really feel how much my burdens weigh.
Two steps into the bar I faintly hear “Trey. Rather, get on your knees and pray.”
Took a look around, this wasn’t really my scene.
I aimlessly walked around all night, my head refused to clear.

Sat- ur – day
So I  spent the day sitting at your side.
It’s been three years pops!
I guess you won’t be there to walk down the aisle with this bride.
I know you would have cried and had on your face a smile so wide.

It is so sunny outside.
While admiring nature, I catch my lips break into a smile.
It feels really strange an act.
And temporarily light shines as the shadows retract.
Sunday, it has all been made new and that’s a fact!


©   O.M

Dear Princess

Princess, pick up your crown.
It’s not meant for the dirt where it lies.
I know life will never stop trying to knock it down.
But there is so much beauty to admire when out of the ashes you rise.

Take a walk with me, let’s talk child.
There is this beast roaming about.
You might be familiar with it, however mild.
It eats you from the inside – out,
Whispering noisy nothingness into your ears that you mistake for truth.
While waging war on your sanity, dignity and identity.
It will be a prominent feature on the mixtape of your youth.
Nonetheless, listening to my voice is how you gain immunity.
Hear me now when I say
Your beauty is not defined by the number of boys asking for your number.
Nor by the comments beneath your pictures claiming you slay.
Now, there will be days when your strength would rather slumber,
Causing that ugly beast called insecurity to rear its head again.
Rest in me, I am the One who watches over you. I neither slumber nor sleep.
And when you think you can’t do without makeup, originally your beauty was never plain.
No child!
Know that your beauty is wild.

Princess, you are royalty
You are blessed and precious in my sight
You don’t need to beg for their loyalty
I want you to learn to depend on my might.

When you value you, they’ll catch on and value you
Most times when we converse, you ask…
King, where is my boo?
King, where is my prince? Why is finding him such a task?
Allow me to explain.
I have created princes but some of them have traded their crowns for snapbacks
Denied my freedom only to be bound by the lifestyle of heavy gold chains.
When I look at my supposed image, all I see is a mirror full of cracks.
Doesn’t mean I love them any less, my redeeming grace is made available.
Just know that the one I have chosen to cherish you is being refined,
And once he’s been bent, broken, shaken and made malleable;
Will your paths become aligned.
Listen now, your body is my temple.
Holy and sanctified. Purchased with an immeasurable price.
So stop giving it out as a free sample.
Just look to me, your friend and Creator
Your go to person and mediator.

Princess, there will be dark days.
Tainted with brokenness, hurt, rejection and pain.
Days where it will be so hard to sing my praise.
Keep calm, I will water your soul and send down rain.

Whether you’re chipped, cracked or shattered.
Failing, faltering or falling
You will matter, you matter and you have mattered.
My daughter, listen to my voice, I am calling.
I will piece you back together, part by part.
Let me in, I am your persistent lover.
Don’t shut me out, I am knocking on the door of your heart.
Please come to me, I am your shield and cover.
Dear one, tears are okay.
I hear them too.
Simply another way you pray,
But know that I always hear you.
Granted, you have trust issues,
But the many evils you could have avoided if you let me steer this boat,
And I’m not just talking about when to wear which shoes,
If you could just give me the liberty to gloat that your entire story I wrote.
Let me have the deciding vote.

Princess, can I tell you something?
For you,
This world has absolutely nothing
I am the eternity and satisfaction you seek and that is true.

You were created to shine.
So also that princess over there and the one right next to you.
Her beauty is divine.
Why not hold her hand, pull her up and be true.
Rather than spend time bashing another princess,
Polish her crown,
Don’t stress,
Help her blossom and don’t hold her down.
Once you accept me, my spirit will help you with these things.
If you would let Him, He will renew your mind so you may be transformed.
So you can fully recognise that nothing can separate you from my love, not even your endless sins
Or how bad or well you performed.
Love, joy, peace and kindness
My fruits you will demonstrate
Patience, goodness, faithfulness, self-control and goodness.
Lastly, remember it is never too late to amend.
I am your loving King and dear friend.

©   O.M

Isaiah 43
King James Version (KJV)

But now thus saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.

When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour: I gave Egypt for thy ransom, Ethiopia and Seba for thee.

Since thou wast precious in my sight, thou hast been honourable, and I have loved thee: therefore will I give men for thee, and people for thy life.

Fear not: for I am with thee: I will bring thy seed from the east, and gather thee from the west;


I’m sure if this backspace key could speak, it would say ‘Let me be.’
A bin in the corner of the room overflowing with crumpled paper, yes the typical image.
Mine is however on the left side of this desktop and in this new age, Microsoft calls this a page.
I cannot write and I think the problem is me.

My hands attempt to hold my head in place.
For fear that it will explode with all this unemployed creativity.
You can trace out the frustration on my face,
As I struggle to free myself from this poetic captivity.

I cannot write.
How apt that this is my natural response.
Now watch me reluctantly rhyme write with right.
Oh how I cannot write.

Sometimes it comes to me like rain, trickles in.
Sometimes like a ray of light, it shines through a crack.
Other times I’m found in total lack.
And writer’s block claims the win.

“It’s just a phase.”
“Look for inspiration.”
My ears are exhausted by such phrase.
Wait, maybe I’m afraid my writing is truly a product of a phase.

Oh doubt, not you again!
I watch you grab my artistic confidence and strangle it till it’s barely there.
Maybe with years these verses would be worth calling poetry,
Or maybe they’ll never make it out.

I cannot write.
And the reason is me.

©  O.M


My First Time

A lot of people look forward to their first time.
Well so did I.
Until such dreams were snatched from me in my prime.
His hands slowly creeping up my thigh.
Such innocence forcibly ripped away,
Four hands pinned me down.
They said it was the way I let my hips sway.
A white gown; clawed, tainted and thrust in the muddy brown.

My first time, the less painful memory was the puddle I had cried.
Raw, sore, hate seeping through every pore.
I can’t even wear white if I ever become a bride.
More, more, four, gore. Back pressed firmly on the floor.
One at a time, they sequentially stripped me of my dignity.
Vocabulary diminished to these recurring words: Stop, Please, Stop.
Their friction threatening to snap the bands that keep my sanity.
But my pleas seemed to inspire them to swap


Memories buried tend to evolve into monsters.
This boogeyman comes out to play each night I close my eyes.
These scars never heal, they’re more like swollen blisters.
Please take this pain away, Anyone? Heaven hear my sincere cries.
The clandestine truth, bound and padlocked.
This monster needs no parole.
My very bedrock remains rocked.
I cry theft, my soul they stole.

My story is told and gradually I watched it unfold.
To my Creator, and in His loving embrace I securely stand.
In Him, I rise from my defeated state as a sheep, to a lion- bold.
It might be difficult for you to understand,
Why it was to him I ran.
When initially I blamed Him for after all He was God.
Well, its because He has the master plan.
And in His love, I remain awed.

Background: I spent a lot of this session studying about rape and I just had to conceive something regarding that. I know how I feel about such an atrocity and I pray for anyone out there who has experienced this heinous crime and I hope you find comfort in God because His love can erase all traces left behind and He can heal all scars.

©   O.M


Hello, can you hear me?

Can you hear me call for freedom from the bonds that cage my tongue?
I seek liberty like the air unconsciously entering and leaving your lung.
What excuse do I have for squeaking like a mouse when my roar can be heard from miles away?
People pet and domesticate my tenacity, like a poodle they command me to stay.

Hello, can you hear me?

Can you hear me when the truth spills from my eyes?
And I hide it behind a wide smile, remember I am the master of disguise.
These brown circles reveal enigmas Einstein himself couldn’t figure out.
Be careful though, my gaze has a reputation for leaving in its wake a dreadful speech drought.

Hello, can you hear me?

Can you hear me demand respect and dignity from the men that linger on the side-walks?
I think you should be very afraid of the one that never talks.
For you might laugh and look down at me from your position at the top of the ladder.
I know you’ll get mad when i begin to slowly rise,  save it. When I begin to pay your salary, then you can be madder.

Hello, can you hear me?

Can you hear me beg you to stay after pushing you away?
Because I adore the roses that line my center table, a lovely bouquet.
Please be patient with me,
I’m still learning to love the parts of me that no one claps for Jeremy.

Hello, can you hear me?

Can you hear me seek grace?
To discern those “friends” with masks yet to fall off their face.
Nothing is deadlier than a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Publicly smiling but secretly loathing.

Hello,can you hear me?

Can you hear me when I become one with the placard that says “justice”?
Because it isn’t too much to ask, Hold up, I’m not asking for world peace.
Regardless of social stratification, choice of religion or skin pigmentation.
Discrimination and segregation isn’t something to boast of in this age and generation.

©  O.M