“HELP!” I want to scream all the time, but I’m not quite sure who would hear my cry.

It’s a feeling of dread, a pang in my chest, a never-ending fear. I keep falling asleep here, then I wake up and I’m still here.

I yearn for the days when I was a little boy looking to love. I was scared, yes! Who isn’t? I wanted to love another little boy. It felt odd, completely strange. Oh! How I dreamed.

I yearn for the days when I was a not-so-little boy falling in love. I was scared, yes! Who isn’t? I loved another not-so-little boy. It felt good, completely free. Oh! How I loved.

But the days came when it wasn’t enough to dream. Not for me, not enough for the people around me.

They questioned me. They judged me, pitying me. Perhaps they thought the worst of me. Age quickening, time ticking and the pain of a lonely heart exploding within me. Don’t you feel it?

I huffed and I puffed, trying to forget my wiring. But it all falls back to what society wants, doesn’t it?

“HELP!” I sigh, but no one hears my cry.

It’s a feeling of panic, a disappointment, but it fills me with some kind of hope. To accept what they want from me, to stop yearning for what I know cannot be. Not in my lifetime. It’s hopeless.

They don’t want me to love Him. They want me to love Her.

She’s almost perfect. She accepts me, even without knowing me. How does she do it? Perhaps I can learn from her, an acceptable together. Perhaps I can be free from their judgment. Perhaps I can be free from mine.

So I ask and we dance, to a song made up of cultural norms. The attires glitter, the rings sparkle, the cameras flash and the people are happy. She’s happy too and I’m ecstatic. Well, I will be. It’s a process.

But when the tune of tradition fades away, when the eye of judgment turns in another direction, finally accepting me as one of them, I still feel empty.

It’s not easy, dancing to empty songs. But no marriage is easy, is there?

“HELP!” I want to scream all day, but I’m not quite sure who to blame.

I just want to be the little boy wanting to love and loving another little boy.

But I am to be a man and it’s a feeling of dread, a crack in my chest, a never-ending tear. I keep falling asleep here, and then I wake up and I’m still nowhere.

Written by Abrams

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  1. Mandy
    June 02, 11:33 Reply

    To all those who keep silently screaming in protest of the box society is fitting them inside, at some point, you have to ask yourself, do I want to stay this uncomfortable for the rest of my life?

    At some point, you have to realize that in a world where everything goes wrong all the time, the much happiness you can get for yourself ought to be very very important to you.

  2. Dunder
    June 02, 13:40 Reply

    Please, permit a Roseanne moment.

    “But it all falls back to what society wants, doesn’t it?”- the summary of the problem- your mindset.

    There has been this deluge of “marriage is strategic/economic/pragmatic” posts and while everyone has a right to their opinion, we are not entitled to our facts. If you are biologically able to swing both ways and you chose according to your environment, more power to you but if you take the plunge and play chameleon with the life, time, trust, emotions and love of a fellow human being because your cross is suddenly heavier than that of Leah Shuaib and the yet to be rescued Chibok girls, since you elect to see yourself as the chief victim in a situation where you proposed marriage to a person whose love you can never mirror, taking advantage of the societal pressure that will keep her cleaved to you,you made a conscious choice and you are NOT the victim in this story- you have forced that label unto someone unsuspecting and probably still unaware. After basic empathy for your pain and acknowledgement of your writing talent, the truth is YOU, the architect of your destiny, are to blame.

    Thank you, however, for not using the Jesus dodge- “In straight-Ville there are many mansions. I am going into hiding in my marriage so as to prepare a better Nigeria for you. I am passing for straight in order to be able to bail you when you are arrested. I am fortifying my closet with titanium so as to be the loudest LGBT advocate. Bleaching my skin empowers me to talk about black beauty. I am dying that you may enjoy life eternal…”. Uncle/Aunty, a person without the balls to shield their dignity and decisions from the influence of few kith and kin is not suddenly going to cry from the mountain top and save the world or the gaybies in it.

    Let us be unbiased and ask- did you consider this poem from the view of the woman you lured into this union? “She accepts me, even without knowing me”- this suggests a “together” that is “acceptable” to you alone. Your wife deserves informed consent you stealthily denied her.

    There are thoroughly heterosexual Africans from closer knit and more conservative families than ours who are unmarried but have not been hanged. They have survived the demands and drama because of a truth you confess in this piece:
    “But when the tune of tradition FADES AWAY, when the eye of judgment TURNS IN ANOTHER DIRECTION, finally accepting me as one of them, I still feel empty.”- They know that Solomakindes will find another subject of interest.

    Lastly, did these people really “accept you as one of them” or demean your dignity and humanity by reducing you to a mere Pinocchio, wooden and with an every lengthening nose? Do you think people wicked enough to reduce you to the court jester contorting for their approval will ever turn you to a real boy? Pharaohs don’t keep their promises. I am not commenting on Ambien but from some experience- this long piece is no high horse, just a statement of facts.

    • King Oberon
      June 02, 20:33 Reply

      Thank you, thank you so very much for this comment.
      Unless they forced you at gun point to propose and marry against your will, you are not a victim. And I’m sorry to say stunts like this reeks of weakness in character and conviction, which is rather hard for me to sympathize with.

    • Delle
      June 03, 09:58 Reply

      *drops mic*

      I love you, Dunder. Don’t ever forget that.

    • Abrams
      June 09, 02:06 Reply

      Dear Uncle/Aunty.
      This is not a real story. I’m not sure if the tag “fiction” did not specify that. This is just researched and “my writing talent” as you stated.
      I am a young man with clear principles and I own most of my decisions except staying up late with TV and ice-cream when I have to wake up early. And yes, waking up early does literally involves a gun to my head, unfortunately.
      I do 100% agree with your “statement of facts” but directed at other people in this same situation.
      But I’m only the painter of this hidden yet common turmoil. And I love your gesticulation of words, Uncle/Aunty. Let’s keep painting together!

      • Eagle
        June 14, 07:20 Reply

        Well said Abrams. That was a matured response and yes I agree with both of you but we should be clear that it’s fiction and a beautiful write up!

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