You want me to woo you, chase you, tease you, yet you give me just a few minutes of attention,
You want sweet morning text massages, continuous calls and replies to all your chats but no warm text message back, spaced out calls and my replies I have to wait for,
You want me to prove myself, fight for your love, win your trust . . .
“It is the fun in the chase” She says,
“I wouldn’t want to come off cheap” She say,
O man, though art not allowed to complain.
You dies out of a sickness/accident/mishap, you that bore me. Leaving me to fend for my younger ones, leaving me in this cold world,
You demand my toil, my sweat, my blood for your success and yet insult me, cut my pay diminish me.
You say it is the man’s duty, you mock me in my struggle, you compare me to friends and colleagues . . .
“You be man” they say,
“You gats chest am” they say,
O man, though art not allowed to cry.
We have emotions,
We require attention,
We are human, not some muscle built robot oblivious to pain and untouched by a lack of affection. We are imperfect, we are humane and yes we might have egos but in truth it dies in the presence of those we love.
Tell us those sweet mushy things,
Believe in us, care for us, trust us.
For whether we like it or not, the society will always say “O man, thou art not allowed . . .
I know there are players and scums but there are still guys that care, that are nice, that feel. Don’t judge your next with your ex, don’t assume guys don’t feel anything. They may not show it but they do. This is for the good guys.
– Anonymous Nigerian