I’m so unsure if to them I’m a human or a weapon
Every time they oblige when my silence beckon
Back in the woods I’ve never heard any pleasant music like the gunshots
How hard staying chaste in war when your colleagues find peace in the body of young sluts

Nights when body pains romance my soul deep
Even with my guns and armour the fear of death seductively comes around to grip
Mosquitoes are the only enemies I couldn’t shoot because they sang lullabies for me to sleep
Pastor you should know that being a soldier made me more orthodoxical because I could fast for weeks yet for food, weep

Coming home to safety, coming home to be secured in the hands of my baby
I’m scared one day I may not be welcomed because half of my body lies with her but the other half, with dead bodies; I look blood tasty
Like the beauty and the beast hope you’ll forever love me even with all this killings
And seeing me in this khaki often won’t engrave those feelings

Mama I’m still your son, mind not these fabric of scars bullets wore all over me
Compare me not with Mama abiola’s son who’s doing drugs overseas
I’m so worried one day I might come home and not get those warmth hugs
Let it not be that I’m in the war zone healing this country and you’re home dying of fraught bugs

I see the fears in my son’s eyes
Though I have no idea in his mind what lies
He may be scared that one day I may lost my arm and these hands won’t be strong enough to carry his own kids
I see the hatred in those eyes of his, of not having a steady man figure but for him staying strong is what my heart bids

The government sees me as a mistress being used occasionally to satisfy their desires for security
Yet they care-less about my welfare, to them I’m just a definition of obscurity
See what you’ve made me into, my abs is now armour, my hands are now deadly bullets and my whole body, machine gun
Assure me that my family will suffer no reproach when my breath is gone

Baby I know I might have been taught to be hard but fear not I’m so soft hearted like mother teresa
Son, don’t Judge my Father Hood by the crippled incapacity to take you to waterfalls, Parks or show you where the terrains are
Mama know this that these scars all over me are blueprints of courage and wounds tell no story but scars do
For the government, you could treat me as a weapon provided my Family will be bereft of hell that I’ve been through

Share this:

Like Love Haha Wow Sad Angry
Did you enjoy this story? Then pay a tip to subscribe to their email list and get premium, exclusive content from them

What do you think?

Join The Tell! Community

Read, and write on Africa's most creative community for writers, thinkers and storytellers

Get Started