Just Like A Novel

Just Like A Novel

Just like a novel


A life of blight

This was my plight

For it was darkness we were accustomed to

Mum and I

And whenever I stare at the family picture and

I see her smile

I marveled at how well she concealed her battered eye


I had always wondered

If it had always been this way before my inception

Mum told they were once happy

But I remember staring at my papa’s face then and thinking happiness has never been his case


See papa was many shades of evil but as time went by we concluded he is the devil

In what was his occasional self, he constantly went berserk

And mum and I benefited from it in the form of undue beatings

Mum was always first and I last

Mum was my only affection and with the little joy we had and felt we would laugh

With my arms around her in our little confinement


Every night while in the comfort of my bed

I would hear my mama’s wails as dad raped her in his quest to fulfill his perverse hunger

She was his wife

They could just have made love

I guess war was his preferred taste it was such a fright.


I thought of fleeing

Thought of leaving this persistent abuse that was my life

But not without mother

I couldn’t bear to leave her here

Without me she would barely be alive


And when reading a novel in the little comfort I had

I found my life was just like a novel

For as I held the book in my hands uncertain of how it would progress to the end


So was the uncertainty my life had

It was as though what is my sad life had already been orchestrated

While I had been brought in as a puppet to dance to my creator’s tune

Despite it being filled with doom

While living each day devoid of the love and happiness my life required

Just as the writer’s pen continually commanded

Gradually inching towards what was an uncertain end

Which I couldn’t end

In the midst of this all

I understood what family is

A band of enforced strangers we are mandated to love



There came a good sign when papa went on his knees in overwhelming plea

Suddenly we felt joy had found our doorbell

Until he met his demise in his afternoon slumber

And here was mum in my arms breaking the news and shedding her customary tears

And I felt her body tremble out of the bitterness that tormented her soul till it gave way to numbness


So in her bed she laid in obedience to the stroke that was her companion

While I kept on daily duty by her bedside, tending

To her needs and putting her make-up on in my resolve

To make her look as beautiful as I could

Loathing every minute I had to leave her side


I doubt if I had held on to joy for two years long

Even though I have lived for almost two decades long

And with each depressing day that passed I felt my life was a tragic novel

And when it was being written

Somewhere the writer who has a knack for tragedy sat

Dressed in black

While she wrote the very sad pages that culminated into my disastrous life

Raging on in her preferred choice of red ink

As it filled her with delight

In a room mildly lit by a small arc of light

In mourning of the literary composition she wrote that is my life

And when it was all over

It would be on sale at a bookstore free to be purchased by anyone

And what is my pitiful life would be reincarnated

In their curious minds


In her visits to see my mum nurse Tolu in her unending benevolence took me to church

And I heard the gospel of Jesus Christ

And in what followed I gave my life to Christ

And the preacher told me mum was fine


I remember running home that day and encountering her making supper in the kitchen

Such untold joy I felt and we burst out into blissful tears till we knelt

So now through Jesus Christ I am the author of my life

And I felt the manuscripts gradually

Disintegrate into smithereens before the writer, as I took my life back

Yes! My life is just like a novel

But now God deserves the laurel


2 thoughts on “Just Like A Novel” by femimicky (@femimicky)

  1. Hmmm, such is life for many black women irrespective of age: suffering the ills of being treated badly by men yet never daring to wish an end to such abusve relationships. Na wetin women do men sef? Talking abiut choices I loved your thought: they could just have made lo.ve…. Shows man’s preference for the inconvenient: their love for hate instead of love, lies instead of truth, darkness instead of light. Am glad for the happy ending and I hope your surviving characters would experience love in the truest form.

  2. femimicky (@femimicky)

    thank you very much for your deep appreciation of the poem…it couldnt have bin better said.

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