Trapped.

I was born against my will. Forced to be alive, to breathe, to walk.

All I wanted was to suckle on breasts and cry but alas! My teeth grew and so did I.

Trapped.

I had to go to school. To improve they said. To be among my peers they chimed.

Forced to endure countless hours battling with my peers for the trophy of being the best.

Because if we weren't the best, we were nothing.

Trapped.

Forced to throw away my art supplies because, "art will not bring you money in Nigeria."

But it was my only escape and my only joy. It helped me create worlds that I wanted to be a part of.

Not this one I was forced to live in.

Trapped.

Forced to get that science degree. Although it was the worst 4 years of my life.

4 years of not knowing the next step to take. 4 years of having adults dictate my life.

4 years of lecturers playing games with my future.

A future I did not even want.

Trapped.

I finally graduated. Yay! But what now?

Serve. Serve my country.

A country that has served me less and less since my birth?

A country that purposely creates policies to favor the already rich and keep the poor, struggling.

A country who CAN make things happen, but they CHOOSE not to.

Lol.

Trapped.

Forced to get married before I was ready because, "a woman ages like milk."

Forced to smile at the wedding camera.

Click click it went, blinding me temporarily with happiness and promises of a happier future.

Trapped.

I hold my baby in my arms. A baby I neither wanted nor needed.

Because I have no idea how to live my life, more less living for someone else.

Forced to bear a 3rd child in this gutter of an economy because, "the Lord said we should be fruitful and multiply."

Well, the Lord didn't account for the ruins of the late stages of Capitalism did he?

I look up at my husband's smiling eyes. The eyes that will no longer smile when he sees the hospital bill.

He notices my concern and says, "omalicha nwa we will manage”, and pecks my forehead.

I nod and force a smile because I have been managing all my life, and I understand.

He is as trapped as I am.

My permanent partner; exhaustion, returns to my already broken body when I hear my other young children, scream outside the hospital delivery room.

I am tired. I wish I wasn't here, and I wish I didn't have to bring more people here.

Trapped.