Whatever Your Weapon Is (Part 2)

I am here to tell you that you have a right to be fucking tired. 

To be emotionally exhausted. 

And to grieve. 

You are not being ungrateful or self absorbed 

For wanting to honour your own problems. 

Leave Syria and North Korea out of this. 

The fact is, 

That if your heart is heavy and you’re losing sleep, 

Who’s going to be of no use to those causes anyway? 

Bingo! You guessed it. 

Don’t add guilt to the menu, I beg you; 

No matter how deliciously tempting that cocktail mix. 

If the self help aisle and holy books are causing more annoyance than relief,

Admit that. 

Unashamedly. 

Swear all you want. 

Break all the things. 

Let your words and demeanour confound and offend. 

Admit to yourself that being strong all the time is nothing but a fucking joke and a goddam lie. 

Because here you are dear; 

Human 

*Gasp* 

And breaking! 

Go on, let your eyes betray you. 

You’ve earned the right to cry. 

You have a right to be angry. 

Wear your scowls on your face like war paint 

With judicious pride. 

Some will scurry for cover, and some will draw near. 

Your job is to discern if they come (or leave) in spite, or in recognition. 

Both angles are just and fair. 

For they too have troubles on their shoulders. 

Countless me too-s, have been losing sleep over things they’re trying hard to repress, 

And you know that to be polite and easy to swallow, 

Wins more friends than to be honest and bare. 

So your trials are nothing special to them. 

Swallow that. 

You never got an education in Emotional Intelligence, 

Yet you graduated valedictorian of that class. 

And you damn near raised yourself, seeing as your entire village was absent. 

It’s okay to realize that few will understand exactly how to help, 

Or what to say, or what to do to make things better. 

And frankly, you’ll need a lot of tentative silence to weather most storms.

Welcome to the course on Self-Preservation! 

Take copious servings of the lessons learned here, for the rest of your adult life.

Hold on fast to your shaky dreams and your fervent dramas. 

To your grace, and to your demons. 

Hold tight to your warped sense of humour and escapist wit. 

To the pages of your journal, and the characters in your poetry. 

All the arsenal you can muster is required… 

Essential even! 

To carve a path through these jungles of existential bliss. 

For the sake of your sanity and well-being, you’d do well not to question me.

Hold onto them all… 

Whatever your weapon is. 

 © Adenike O. Akinbisehin, ‘Whatever Your Weapon Is’ (Part 2).