MY DILEMMA

 By: AFỌLÁBÍ E. Simisólá

Source: Pinterest 

I go to my brother’s house for gains,

Softness, and comfort.

He says, "Come, I have no delight in thy presence."

But his wife! A social butterfly,

Not just an extrovert,

But one who ensures the world interacts

And comments at her every sneeze.

Here comes me, an introvert,

Who hates to talk,

Or, at least, doesn’t like to contribute

In conversations that don’t tickle me.

She talks, I try to converse, Stifling cries of frustration,

Prayers for when the conversation will end.

I try to hate her,

But I tell myself it’s just a conversation.

Get your stuff together.

Then the time comes when we have to cook.

Now I hate her – I mean those words.

I hate her.

I lack expertise in cooking,

And I am coerced into submission

Because I must not make a fool of myself.

I sense my submission has been ridden upon.

I have to stay in the kitchen for every meal,

Be like that 10-year-old girl - lost, shy,

Dependent, and lacking her voice and confidence.

It feels like I am being clipped.

I couldn’t be myself because the society I come from

Takes pleasure in every girl child being responsible

When it comes to kitchen duties.

Every time I stay in the kitchen running her errands,

"Is the seasoning okay? Should I add more salt?

Let me wash the plate," resentment encapsulates me.

All I can think of is I want to be gone,

Away from the house where I don’t feel like

I’m being ordered around.