Oh how desperately I want to write. But I try and then I stop. What's the point? There are killings going on right now. Boko Haram is striking with a vengeance, our government celebrates Centenary awards, our leaders, as usual "condemn" the killings while they sip champagne and enjoy the high life.
I want to write but I blink and I'm filled with horror. The horror a child must have felt to wake up and see her hostel burning, the panic, fear and hopelessness at the realization that she's been locked in and there's no way out. The struggle in the defeat, the defeat in the struggle. The acceptance and resignation, death has come. Last night's worry was I haven't done my homework, a few hours later it's I never knew fire could hurt so much.
I want to write but I can't so I switch on the TV, like a masochist I naturally gravitate to the news channels. Ukraine isn't done with their fighting, there's still bloodshed and killing everywhere. Everywhere is red. I look down and my ink is red, I fling my paper far away from me.
I want to write but my anus throbs. The molestation of a ten year old boy by four seniors in his school has got me clenching my anal muscles in pain. What searing pain the baby must have felt, as their organs tore into him, what pain he must have felt as he gritted his teeth and tried not to scream, tried to be a man, the man they were forcing him to become when all he wanted was to crawl back into mummy's womb. What pain and confusion he must have felt; what are they doing to me, what is happening? I want to write but my heart beats and my anus throbs and I cannot write. I want to write but my hands shake as I remember how she made six year old me pleasure her. I want to write but I can't. Lord, I want to write.
I want to write but those pictures keep hunting me. How does one promise to love you and beats you till he draws blood but blood is never enough. As though he thinks you've not gotten the message he kicks you out of a moving car. I want to write but I feel so confused as I see her body spin out of control on the road, what's happening, what if an oncoming car crushes her? There are already wounds on her body, swollen eyes, swollen lips, cut and bruises all over, and now more pain? Is this the price she pays for love?
I want to write but I cannot. What difference do these carelessly written words make? Lord I want to write.