Ifedolapo Ogunniyi

It’s not that I woke up and decided to stop.
It’s that I made your coffee this morning and forgot the sugar.
You didn’t notice.
And I didn’t care that you didn’t notice.

My love isn’t a geyser anymore.
It’s the sigh I don’t release when you tell me about your day.
It’s the goodnight kiss that lands,by habit, on my cheek instead of my lips.
It’s the one extra inch of mattress between us in bed that feels like a canyon.

I didn’t shed caring like a coat.
I just stopped counting how many times you scroll on your phone while I’m talking.
The fights don’t burn anymore;they’re just white noise.
I go to a quiet place in my head while your words are in the air.
I count the tiles on the ceiling.I plan what to make for dinner.
I am just so…tired.

Trying was remembering your mother’s birthday when you forgot.
Trying was biting my tongue to keep the peace.
Trying was that river of gold—every”I’m fine,” every forced smile, every silent tear cried in the shower so you wouldn’t hear.
Now,the well is dry. There are no more tears to cry, no more smiles to force.
My will is simply…gone.

The woman you married would have asked what was wrong.
The woman you married would have fought.
She would have turned your face to hers and demanded you see her.
Now,I just let you be.
I make a sandwich.I fold the laundry. I exist in the same house as you, a quiet ghost in the rooms we painted together.

This isn’t a punishment.
It’s a quiet pulling-in.
It’s the last,frail act of preservation, like a turtle retreating into its shell.
The ship of us has been sinking for years.
I am just finally still,listening to the water, too exhausted to bail anymore.
And the most terrifying part?
The water is not cold.
It feels like peace.

© Ifedolapo Ogunniyi

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