I Have Given Nothing To The World Yet By John Chizoba Vincent

I ran out of my self yesterday trying to be myself.  My shadow watched me as I ran, it never followed me. It stood aloof looking at  how desperate I was to myself.  I tried to ran out of my body to the measurable deep down of the earth but I failed.  I failed myself again trying to be me. Trying to restore me like the one I used to be before. Trying to take charge over everything that comes into me but I failed myself again just like I always fail myself. I told me that I have to try again to be me but the beauties of being me is the ashes of Eden prairie trapped on the road of nothingness. 
 I am empty yet full of hope to come, I’d emptied myself into abyss and oblivion of darkness yet,  I am full again to those people that stood by the covenant of who I was made to be. I have given nothing to the world yet,  I have no plane I have made, I have no human I can point at and tell someone I have helped him or her to the top, I have no idea which have served or saved humanity then,  why should I ever think of running away from me to the belly of the world where no eyes will see me again. Through the eyes of the needle,  the last teardrop from my Verizon of thought interwoven into crumbles of lost courses.   
I could pretend to be trapped in another world while finding myself, a world, though, where I would be asking to let me find out if truly I am born to change some social norms  upon discovering again that I was dancing alone in this classical music .
Don’t look at me and call me great because I have given nothing to the world yet, I am proud of who I am becoming daily faulting and questioning everything that have potential existence. When we cross path tomorrow, don’t tell me how great I am but tell me how my words how impacted so much in you I think that will make me fulfilled.

To run away from the reality of things, from the fact that I was born a boy trying to find my feet on places where men fall into riches, to a place where I can talk to my heart and it’s listen without having the mind of its own and I conceived people hated me for being me, for always trying to play safe all the time; for keeping quiet all the time because they said silence is not golden.  So I began to write to ease myself of these pains. I remember the first thing I ever gave out to the street, I remembered the very first thing I wrote was my name as a great man not very vividly though, but I know I still remember the colour I painted the name with.  Gold,  silver,  white and pink. I have given nothing to the world yet,  I have never made someone to break down in tears of joy for my kindness.  I have never made someone to smile because they all love me for one thing, they all want me for one thing and when those things are gone,  they went with them. I crave daily to drop memories that will last centuries to come. 
I have given nothing to the world yet.  I will still have to make friends that will stay forever and those that would go when those things they love about me are gone.  I will still have to create what will  make people forget their worries and love themselves.  I will write to break and behold histories on my palms. I will still have to shake many tables and uproot many roots that are hidden under ground.  I have given nothing to the world yet,  the world awaits me,  yes,  the world will stand still when I stop running away from myself. 

I wrote about boys like me yesterday, those boys  like me who were given birth by feminists. I wasn’t happy writing about them but I was happy I wrote something down.  I also created boys without hope, those dregs of the society in the cozy cold outside the street of Lagos, I called them runners of evil because they created themselves in my head.  I was happy I wrote about them but I made sure I stole their thoughts into the deepest dream of the secret of the world.  I wrote them an epistles.I felt good writing this. I soaked the who of myself in it, sometimes wading so wild and deep I thought it was somehow possible with me when I talk about boy’s and their predicaments.

2012 broke me,  2013 arranged me,  2014 introduced another me, 2015 reeked me into afterlife of restlessness trying to find home through the door of agony,  2016 held me ransom for breaking up with the target of love; 2017 opened my eyes to those things I have failed to realise about life. And 2018, life has been blotted out from the blossoms of Spiritism, life of a loner.   I’d asked my people about me and many definition of me from  people scare the day light out of me. I pray I stop running from my body for something that I would soon outgrow.

2018, I just  learnt that, surviving on earth meant wearing yourself and your  identity with pride and high esteem, I stopped trying to escape from the person who is to give to the world what he has as he drums it to the ears of the universe. I learnt to embrace myself just like the way I am because embracing myself would give me the opportunity to offer the world my very best.
 Hiding from the reality of things won’t bring out the best in me rather it will steal so many things from me and give me force hope. I can only love myself and not pity myself. The acceptance from people will first be seen in me before they can accept me the way I am.
I have given nothing to the world yet,  so I will stop running to embrace who I am and break free from fear of what tomorrow may bring to the table. 
©John Chizoba Vincent 


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