My Mind Jumble

This is just a jumble words that were going through my mind, that I decided to put down on paper. Let me know what you think. I promise I don’t bite. (=

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I don’t wanna grow up.

By: Khabirat Abioye

I just want my childhood back.

Where the aches and pains that I feel in my heart were nonexistent.

Where I didn’t care for the attention of a boy, I just wanted to ride his bike.

Where when he teased my, I stood tall with my flat chest out, and simply punched him in the face.

I just want my childhood back.

Where we would play outside for hours.

Where we couldn’t wait to come home from school so we could jump out of our uniforms, and throw on some shorts and pick up where we left off the day before.

Where we fell down, got scrapes and bruises, and wore them around like badges of honor. Not like today where our scrapes and bruises are so shameful, we would never want to be reminded of them.

I just want my childhood back.

Where it didn’t matter what you had on, or if you copped those new Jays. As long as it didn’t hinder your ability to play the next game.

Where it didn’t matter if you were cute or not, being cool was based on your physical abilities like climbing a tree.

Where we had simple fun, not like kids these days, glued to their video games.

Where we had the option of playing video games, but chose to go outside instead.

I just want my childhood back.

Where our biggest responsibility was finishing our food at the table and making sure our bed was made.

Where we never even dreamed about marriage, college, graduate school, loans, cars, and our future. We were worried about trying to get our homework done in time for school the next day.

Where our biggest punishment was not being able to play with our friends or watch TV, not this reoccurring guilt that is laden with us every single day.

Where our biggest disappoint was getting ready to sit down in front of the TV for Saturday morning cartoons and finding out that your siblings finished all the milk.

I just want my childhood back.

Where I could step onto of my daddy’s toes and dance the night away.

Where if there was anything we were afraid of, we could get our bigger brother and know that everything will be okay because he was there to protect you.

Where all we cared about was trying to figure out a way to convince our mothers that we REALLY needed cake, candy, ice cream, and soda. All in that order.

I just want my childhood back.

Where we had confidence and were secure in who we were, enough to stand up for ourselves.

Where we aspired to be just like our parents: Adults who could drive to the store and had enough money to buy whatever a kid could desire.

Where life was an infinite possibility and no one could tell you otherwise.

I just want my childhood back.

Where my heart never got broken, and I didn’t have to feel guilty or sad for breaking someone else’s heart.

Where the only thing guys wanted was to be your friend so he could play with your toys or ride your bike. Not a one night stand.

Where we didn’t have high expectations of the world, only for them to be crushed and thrown back in our faces.

Where your trust was never broken.

I simply want my childhood back.

Where I was happy and free.

Where I was innocent.

And where all was right in the world.

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That woman…

By: Khabirat Abioye

Our society is broken.

“Don’t get raped out there.”

That’s what we teach our daughters and our sisters.

And when it happens to her, you ask what was she doing.

You ask how could she let that happen.

You ask her if she invited it. Or suggested it.

You ask her, why didn’t she tell anyone.

You automatically assume that it was her fault.

Our society is broken.

We fail to lead by example.

We fail to instill the correct values.

We fail to educate our sons and our brothers to treat women with respect.

We fail to teach these young men to protect their sister, daughters, mothers, aunties, cousins.

We fail to show them how to be a proper human being.

We fail to show them the consequences to this action.

We fail to show them how one by one, our society is diminishing.

Our society is broken.

Since no one has ever told you. I’m here to tell you.

When a woman is raped, her entire soul feels like its being taken away.

Her nur, her light, has been extinguished.

Her self-respect, her confidence, her beauty, all gone.

Her innocent stolen by this man.

Friend or foe. Brother or father. A complete stranger or by someone she knew and trusted.

The epitome of her has been taken by some man who felt like her body was his right.

She must carry that memory with her for the rest of her life.

And it will haunt her in her dreams and it will haunt her when she is awake.

She will become a hallow sense of herself.

It is something detrimental to go through.

She will always fear that man. Or any other man for that matter.

A woman wants to feel safe. Not terrorized.

Our society is broken.

So my request from you is don’t do it. Just don’t do it. No means no.

Imagine your mother going through that. Your baby sister. Your daughter.

Because she is someone’s mother. She is someone’s baby sister. She is someone’s daughter.

She might even be me.

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My prayer…

By: Khabirat Abioye

I woke up every morning with good intentions on my mind.

Every night that I went to bed, I prayed.

I didn’t pray for world peace.

I didn’t pray to end world hunger.

I didn’t pray to solve everyone’s problems.

I didn’t pray to make everyone happy.

I prayed to soften the hearts of those in the world that caused problems for those around them.

I prayed to help people open their eyes to the problems that they are adding to the world, no matter how minute.

I prayed to allow the innocence to live on in the world, and not be stolen away by people with pain and hurt trapped in their hearts.

I prayed for people to gain the ability to understand forgiveness in this world, it’s power, and how to give it.

I prayed for people to learn how to love deeply, because we as human beings are in dire need of it, giving or receiving.

I prayed that people develop a sense of understanding for those around them, for when we gain understanding, we gain a host of other things.

I prayed that we people grow patience, which will humble us as a species, and move us to better things.

I prayed for my mother.

I prayed for my father.

I prayed for my siblings.

I prayed for my fellow Muslim ummah.

I prayed for my future husband.

I prayed for my future son.

But mostly I prayed for my future daughter.

Like Chris Cab and Big Sean said.

“Good girls don’t grow on trees.”

I prayed because I wanted the world to be a better place.

A better place for those who come after me.

I know innocence doesn’t last forever.

But I would like to preserve it for as long as possible.

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Our Unknown

By: Khabirat Abioye

I have held onto the pain and the hurt from my past.

I have used it as my story because I was afraid of writing a new one.

You see, the unknown scares me.

Almost to the point where I am afraid,

afraid of thinking about the future.

I have a plan.

But God’s plan is bigger.

I just have to take it one step at a time,

and put my trust in him.

But most importantly,

I need to get myself a new story.

Preferably one that involves you,

because I couldn’t imagine it without you.

So here’s to my new adventure and story,

our unknown.

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Replaced.

By: Khabirat Abioye

Don’t expect me to be happy for you.

I’m sure she’s a pretty girl.

And I’m sure she makes you happy.

But don’t expect me to be happy for you.

I’m sure she treats you like a king.

And I’m sure she makes you laugh.

I’m sure she SEEMS nice.

And I’m sure she’s porn star in the bedroom.

But don’t expect me to be happy for you.

I’m sure she treats your mother like a prize.

And I’m sure she plays with your little sister.

I’m sure she plays 2k11 with you.

And I’m sure she trash talks with your boys.

But don’t expect me to be happy for you.

I’m sure she is charming.

And I’m sure she is quite lovely.

I’m sure she worships with the best of them.

And I’m sure she makes a mean queso.

But don’t expect me to be happy for you.

I always dreamed of being “she”

But I was never deemed good enough.

And it hurts.

So I wish you well, because I never want anything bad to happen to you ever.

But don’t you dare expect me to be happy for you.

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My mental image.

By: Khabirat Abioye

When I am hurting,

I close my eyes.

And you grace my eyelids with your presence.

And everything feels as it should.

I feel safe and protected.

I feel warm.

And you are smiling down at me.

And I am mesmerized by your eyes.

And I am in your arms.

And in this dream you love me.

And no one can take that away from us.

And for once I am truly happy.

Not moving. No thinking. Not doing.

Just simply being.

And I shed a tear at the thought of us.

Then my eyes open.

And I am propelled back into reality.

Into the coldness of the world.

Where you are nowhere to be found.

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It’s my time…

By: Khabirat Abioye

We are prisoners of words unsaid.

Thoughts. Dreams. Actions. Ideas.

Lonely, simply floating around our heads.

Trapped within the walls of our minds.

No outlet for them to be fed.

Yet when I open my mouth,

the blah-blah-bullshit that comes out,

people say that they can relate.

See there is a misunderstanding in the world.

Why do we allow ourselves deceive ourselves?

We lie to one another, and allow others to lie to us.

We don’t hold each other accountable for the words we speak.

Wither its a truth or a lie.

We trap ourselves within this silence,

more and more as each day goes by.

We simply say what others want to hear.

Could you take it if I came clear?

The wretched words and the harmful truth.

Could you handle it?

Or have you been tricked by society for so long,

that a simple truth would be like the straw on a camels back?

We go on in this world searching for pieces of ourselves,

when we really need to be searching for peace within ourselves.

That false sense of reality that is being distorted-ly  passed around this world.

Is it impossible to hold ourselves to a higher standard than the idiocy that is expected of us?

By holding ourselves to a higher standard, I feel that,

We let go of being a prisoner to the world around us.

We let go of being a prisoner to fear.

We let go of being afraid of something that compels us to be something great.

We let go of being a prisoner to the possibility of failure.

We let go of being a prisoner of the expectations and the limits that we allow others to place upon ourselves.

I think its that time.

That time to let go and simply allow the words to run free.

Those feels trapped deep inside, give them a voice.

I challenge you to say, “It’s time for me.”

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My letter for me…

By: Khabirat Abioye

And for a second, I thought that was for me.

Naive, the fool I am.

To think that what we had was love.

Lust is its biggest form.

As you would call it.

The lies, the lack of trust, the secrets.

They just destroyed our image of the one we loved.

If that image had any accuracy at all.

My heart hurts at the thought of you.

My brain wants to unplug itself,

from the memories, from the thoughts,

But mostly from the pain.

I walked into that house with a mission.

To not allow you to swoon me over with your rich vocabulary

and you knack for words.

But there was no need.

You barely uttered 3 sentences to me.

I think the dogs will miss me more than you.

And your roommates, my cooking.

People say sticks and stones may break you bones,

but your words cut deep into my soul,

cause a river of blood to fall from my eyes.

Me wishing not to wake up tomorrow,

because I knew you wouldn’t be there,

Or any day after that.

Love? I never knew what that was.

Because you and me, that’s not what we had.

You said I love you to any blind fool in a skirt who will believe you.

I pray that I can overcome this.

Because the next man doesn’t deserve a broken Khabi.

He deserves a compassionate, loving, trusting, beautiful woman.

Not the person that you have painted me to be.

I am only a result of your actions.

But tomorrow is a new day.

And each new day brings me a bit closer to happiness,

and a little further from you.

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A Letter to My Unborn Child

By: Khabirat Abioye

My baby, Ya habiby

I love you with all my heart,

even though you are not here yet.

But in my mind,

You have been conceived,

And have already begun your journey to greatness.

My baby, Ya habiby

I love you with all my heart,

even though you are not here yet.

I dream about all the things that I want to teach you.

All the things that you will learn,

                that I will not know.

I pray that you surpass your dear old mother.

My baby, Ya habiby

I love you with all my heart,

even though you are not here yet.

I am afraid for you sometimes.

I pray that the world I live in,

                you never come to experience.

I pray that the world will become a better place,

                just for you.

I pray that the Lord guides me,

formulates the words in my mouth to raise you into that,

                charming young man,

                or that beautiful intelligent woman

that you have the potential to be.

My baby, Ya habiby

I love you with all my heart,

even though you are not here yet.

My heart hurts at the thought of you.

Will I be able to handle it?

Or will I fail terribly as a parent?

A parent’s worst nightmare is to see their child not succeed.

Will I be able to handle you?

My baby, Ya habiby

I love you with all my heart,

even though you are not here yet.

I shudder at the thought of the pain,

and heart ache that you will put me through.

But because you are a being that is brought forth from my body,

You are a piece of me.

And for that I love you,

And I am willing to risk that chance just to know you.

My baby, Ya habiby

I love you with all my heart,

even though you are not here yet.

I hope that I can give you the tools to

“run wild, but be smart” as 2Pac says.

I may feel the need to be over protective,

But I know you’ll never experience the world like that.

Nobody likes an over bearing mother.

My baby, Ya habiby

I love you with all my heart,

even though you are not here yet.

I know that I am so in love with you,

and you have yet to take your first breath.

And with every breath that you breathe,

I pray that you will always feel my love.

My baby, Ya habiby

I love you with all my heart,

even though you are not here yet.

Insha’Allah, God willing,

One day.

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Waiting for Superman

By: Khabirat Abioye

I try to dis sway his sexual advances because I know he is not you.

I know he will not kiss my forehead when my hair is grey.

I know he will not wipe away my tears to let me know everything is okay.

I know he won’t hold my hand and dance in the rain.

I know he won’t make my mother giggle and my father proud to call son.

I know he won’t swoon my grandmother and make her feel like the prettiest woman in the room.

I know he won’t guide me down the path of heaven.

Nor will he make me wake up with a smile on my face every day.

He will not be the one my son looks up to, nor will he be the one my daughter calls daddy.

He will not be the one that I am staring at while all eyes are on me as I walk down the aisle in my puffy white dress.

He will not be the one I miss at night while he is away.

He will not be my knight in shining armor.

And he will definitely not be the one in the red and blue cape.

Why?

Because he simply is not you.

So I will continue to ignore his sexual advances because I know you are out there.

As I am looking for you, you are looking for me.

And maybe if I'm patient enough, you'll find me.

So until then, I will continue to ignore the him's of the world.

And I will continue to wait for my superman.

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Untitled...

By: Khabirat Abioye

Roses are red, Violets are blue.

Baby, it feels like you've put a spell on me and I have no idea what to do.

My body aces in pain when it awakes to find you not there.

My mind spins in circles at the thought of you gone.

I toss and turn at night because I don't like not having you near.

My entire being quivers at the absence of you.

I need you to come back to me and free me from this affliction that has plagued my soul completely.

I am engulfed by this fever that is the epitome of you.

My head tells my heart to slow down,

but that thing is so far gone... man.

The giddy feeling I get when I see your name across my screen.

The butterflies that erupt in my stomach when I hear you voice.

It's just... man.

As I lay my head upon your chest and stare up into your eyes,

chills run down my spine as the images of our future dances across the screen in my mind.

I say a silent prayer to God for this beautiful blessing that he has brought into my life in the form of man.

As this all plays out in my mind, the only thing that I am physically able to play out is a smile.

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When we break up...

By: Khabirat Abioye

We play tug of war with my heart because I don't want you to have it anymore.

See? It has a sign on it that says fragile.

But like a little kid in a sandbox, you are agile

to play around and toss it around because you cannot read.

You don't see the signs that you are breaking my heart over and over again.

For some reason I love you like a fat kid loves cake.

Every time I see you, I want to take a bite.

I go through withdrawals when you are no where to be found.

But when you are near, the gleaming light in my eyes?

You extinguish with your dirty lies and dark secrets.

Next to those false accusations, I can no longer sleep with.

The naive little fool you think I am, I am not.

I know all about Samie, Tamia, and Paula.

I'm tired of letting the disease of your "love" affect me.

Penetrating me like a beautiful virus.

Attacking my entire being violently.

I am searching for the antibiotic that will free me from the anguish that is the complete definition of you.

No matter how much pain and despair I went though,

I will never give you the satisfaction in letting you see me cry.

Simply because my pride is too great.

And my ego is even bigger.

I know I will get along fine without you.

_______________________________

The Orange House

By: Khabirat Abioye

I feel small standing next to you.

In your tiny house, we sit as you tell me the story of your life.

Your artsy friends the the figment of my imagination could never come up with.

Your tortilla factory that you love so much.

Your music that is so beautiful that it brings tears to my eyes.

Your mother who loves me like I am her own. As you stand there in all black with your bare face, I cannot compete.

I feel small standing next to you.

With my hipster jeans and my costume jewelry.

My designer purse that I probably spent last months rent on.

Trying to have a fraction of the life that you live. Caught up in the glamour of life, you bring me back to earth.

You open my eyes to true beauty,

all that which is you.

Ana-Pracilla Garcia Mereno.

With your vivid imagination and love for life.

I envy you...

The girl in the orange house. 

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Our Song

By: Khabirat Abioye

I hold myself back for good reason.

I tantalize him with my hips as I stare deeply into his eyes where our connection is electric and it feels as though it is just him and I in the room.

The awkward stares that people throw our way feels like it is taking place elsewhere.

The fight I had with my now to be ex-boyfriend is all a distant memory as this strangers manhood stands to attention as I sway my hips left and right.

Up and down. Back and forth. As the music plays.

He anticipates and reciprocates every move I throw his way.

I want the room to keep spinning the way my hips do, round and round.

I'm afraid that if I stop, I'll be projected back into reality when all I want to do is live in this moment forever with this stranger who knows every which way to move me to make this more than a simple dance.

There is an evident passion and a secret intimacy in the way we move that people frown upon in public.

But this stranger and I simply do not care because we are basking in this moment with each other.

And the only thing that matters at this time is him, I, and our hips moving to the beat of some derogatory song that's probably talking about B’s and H’s.

As our song comes to an end and I start to pull away,

he grabs my arm and asks if I’ll come home with him.

I turn and say it was one dance, one song.

It's not supposed to last a life time.

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