This Is Me. Kinda.

This Is Me. Kinda.
(A little back story to me and my poems)

(I tend to write thoughts depending on how I feel at a given time, and when I am sad is when I have the most pain to write, and most people might see or hear and think I am a sad person, but I am not,  sometimes I am, but that's not the point)

A little backstory about me and my poems

I’m not sad.

Let’s start there.

I know my words sound like rain,

Like grey clouds and thunder caught in a pen,

But that’s not sadness

That’s just the sound of bottled silence finally spilling out.

I’ve held it in for too long.

Too many unsaid thoughts

pressed against the inside of my chest,

like fists on a closed door.

This, this right here, is me opening that door.

So don’t hear my voice and assume sorrow.

Sometimes I’m happy.

Sometimes I’m not.

Sometimes I’m just in between,

which is where most of us live anyway, 

let's not lie to our selfs.

I write what I feel in the moment.

It could be joy.

It could be pain.

It could be boredom turned into art.

Could be me dancing inside my head,

When my body is still.

I’m not here for applause.

I’m not here for a crowd.

I'm here to be heard,

even if no one listens.

My name?

Well, my full name is poetry in itself,

But you can call me Oluwatee.

Or Toyo. Or whatever love feels like to you.

This isn't about labels.

This is about truth.

I love to talk.

I love to dance.

I love to sing even badly.

I love to run, even when I’m out of breath.

I love soccer, even if I miss every goal.

I love trying.

Because trying is holy.

Trying is enough.

I’m sensitive.

Like, paper-thin kind.

Like, words linger in me longer than they should.

But I’m learning not to hate that.

I’m learning to be okay with being soft.

I’m learning the spiritual side too.

No, I don’t have it all figured out.

Yes, sometimes I’m scared.

But I’m showing up.

I’m whispering prayers between lines.

That’s got to count for something.

Some say I’m closed.

Maybe I am.

But even a closed book has pages.

And this? This is me flipping a few open.

I don’t have the answers.

But I have the art.

I have the words.

I have the feeling.

I have the fire.

I have the silence, and now I have the voice.

I love imperfect things.

Pictures with blurs.

Sketches that smudge.

Sentences that run on like this one.

Because somewhere in the mess, I find meaning.

So if you’re listening,

don’t try to figure me out.

Just feel it.

Just be here.

This is me.

Or at least, the part of me brave enough to speak.

Written by me
Call me Toyo. Or Oluwatee. Or whatever love sounds like to you.
Thank you for being here.