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you are twenty years old
standing by the stop
smelling of fast food
soul full of immigrant dreams
your class at two pm,
you missed
more hours for money gram
for your little sister
needs to take her exam
to enter the University of Lagos.

you are twenty three years old
sitting beside him
watching him walk naked
his skin contrast against yours
he reminds you of
rain in August back in Lagos
the kind of rain that floods
the roads, that blocks the
entrance to your street.

four days ago,
you listened as your father said
“everyone is so proud of you
you are such a great daughter..
keep working and focusing on school”
you try not to let the darkness break you down
as you hold yourself from falling
because sometimes,
home seems so far away
you will desperately cradle
even if they flood your spirit
like the rain in Lagos.

you walk quietly into the clinic
your rosary in your pocket
praying to Mary
trying your hardest not to
touch your belly
as the doctor calls your name.

the clinic

Ijeoma Umebinyuo

(via theijeoma)

my body & emotions, ugh! P L E A S E.

(via voguememoirs)
The real tragedy of our postcolonial world is not that the majority of people had no say in whether or not they wanted this new world; rather, it is that the majority have not been given the tools to negotiate this new world
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Half of a Yellow Sun (via beautiesofafrique)
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