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They tried to bury me in silence.
They tried to stitch my mouth shut
with their shame, their fear, their disgust.
But even graves cannot hold fire.

I was born carrying a secret,
a body split between two truths
male and female colliding like thunder,
a riddle wrapped in flesh.

And for years,
I folded myself into shadows,
begged God to make me ordinary,
to strip me of this unbearable different.
But hear me now
my knees will not bend to shame anymore.

I am done hiding.

This body is not a mistake.
It is not a monster.
It is not something to be corrected,
cured, or erased.

This body is holy chaos,
the place where creation refused to choose,
a living testimony that God’s brushstrokes
do not ask for your approval.

I am the earthquake you cannot silence.
I am the storm you cannot cage.
I am the truth you choke on
but cannot swallow.

Pause and look at me.
Look at the flesh you feared.
Look at the miracle you named a sin.
Look at the beauty you tried to bury.

I am not your whisper.
I am not your secret.
I am not your apology.

I am rage and softness.
I am scar and resurrection.
I am the hymn you cannot sing
without trembling.

If my existence offends you,
good.
Let it offend.
Let it split your chest open
until you taste the salt of your own smallness.

Because I am here.
I am unashamed.
I am untamed.
I am thunder walking in daylight.

And I will never
never
crawl back into the dark.

I am done hiding.

Ifedolapo Ogunniyi
http://www.ifedolapoogunniyi.com

I wish for a voice, gentle and true,
That whispers my name, “Dolapo, how are you?”
Not in passing, not as a chore,
But with a heart that longs to know more.

To sit with me when silence speaks,
When answers hide and courage is weak.
To hold the pause, to bear the space,
To wait for words I cannot trace.

For sometimes healing is not in reply,
But in the kindness of a patient eye.
Not in the telling, not in the start,
But in someone who listens
and waits for my heart.

© Ifedolapo Ogunniyi

http://www.ifedolapoogunniyi.com

He does not come with chains,
not at first.
He comes with sweets,
with laughter tucked neatly
inside his pockets,
with words polished smooth
like pebbles washed by rivers.

He learns the child’s silence,
the way her eyes flinch
when storms rattle inside her home.
He learns the cracks in her world,
the places where love
has not poured enough.
And there,
like poison finding an open vein,
he seeps in.

His voice is a soft spell,
wrapping around innocence,
“Shh… this is our secret,”
he whispers,
teaching trust to walk backwards
until it forgets its name.

He builds a prison
not of iron,
but of confusion:
“Good girls don’t tell.
No one will believe you.
This means I love you.”
The child,
too young to know betrayal
wears shame like borrowed skin,
too heavy for her small frame.

He grooms with patience
each smile, each gift,
each hand lingering too long
a rehearsal
for the theft of purity.
He teaches her to question herself,
to fear her own voice,
to believe her body
is a crime she caused.

And when he is done
when her laughter is fractured,
when her childhood is ashes
he slips back into the world
looking like a neighbor,
a teacher,
an uncle,
a priest.
The mask spotless,
the monster unseen.

And the girl
her cries are silent earthquakes.
She carries them into womanhood,
where trust becomes a battlefield,
and love feels like a trick
she is always waiting to uncover.

Because the pedophile
does not just touch flesh.
He rewrites memory.
He vandalizes innocence.
He takes a child’s tomorrow
and leaves her
shivering in yesterday.

Ifedolapo Ogunniyi

Beneath the shadow of hurtful words thrown,
I struggled to repair what had been overthrown.
Through shattered glass, I strained to see,
Love crumbling swiftly, fading free

With hopeful heart, I persevered,
Ignoring wounds, the pain, the tears.
Each bruise a secret, each scar concealed,
In desperate silence, I would softly yield.

I whispered vows to make amends,
Believed that love could heal the bends.
I danced on eggshells, walked the line,
Hoping for change, a sign, a sign.

Yet days turned dark, the nights grew long,
His anger’s grip, like iron strong.
My spirit weakened, light grew dim,
But deep within, a fire burned grim.

In trembling steps, I found my way,
To break the chains, to end dismay.
With strength newfound, I faced the truth,
I left behind my shattered youth.

A farewell brave, I whispered clear,
To end the cycle of hurt and fear.
No longer captive to his rage,
I stepped onto a brighter stage.

Though scars remain, both seen and hid,
I am free to love, to mend, to bid
Goodbye to pain, ready to embrace the sky,
But to you, it will always be a badbye.

Ifedolapo Ogunniyi
http://www.ifedolapoogunniyi.com

I remember the day your fingers slipped into mine,
a trembling promise caught between hope and illusion.
Your smile was a lighthouse,
and I was a ship foolish enough to believe
harbors lasted forever.

We carved dreams into midnight skies,
counting stars like currency for the life
we swore we would build.
Each laugh was a brick.
Each kiss was a vow sealed in trembling silence.
But walls of love are fragile
when time is a thief lurking in the shadows.

Now I see you in the corners of this room,
a shadow leaning against the wall,
watching me like you never left.
Your perfume still lingers,
sweet and sharp, like the edge of memory
that cuts when I breathe too deeply.

I sit by the window some nights,
wondering if you are beneath the same moon
or buried beneath the earth.
The silence will not answer me.
It only hums with the weight of your absence,
a cruel song that refuses to end.

The bed has become a grave
where I bury myself nightly,
listening for your name in the hum of the dark.
Sometimes I reach for you,
and my hand swallows air,
empty as the promises we could not keep.

Was it fate that betrayed us?
Or did love splinter under the weight of its own vows?
You left before the ink dried on our forever,
turning dreams into tombstones,
and I into a man kneeling at the altar of loss.

If I could bleed memories,
this floor would drown in red,
stained with the sound of your laughter
and the weight of your absence.
But I stand here instead,
silent, hollow,
counting the days I no longer own,
because our forever was numbered
from the very start.

Ifedolapo Ogunniyi