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ODOYEWU, My first love💕

I've been a sensitive being all my life.... too sensitive, maybe. For a long time, I wondered why i was wrought that way; why things get to me so easily and deeply. The least things would make me cry and beat myself about not being good enough. Some psychological experts will later help me understand that It is probably a result of many traumatising situations that I had to endure as a child, which destroyed my self-esteem. What excalates my situation is that I am also born an artist; I've always been able to create my art from nothing since I learnt to speak, read, and write. Artists are wired to feel things strongly and deeply; if we don't, we won't be able to create. As a result of this, I began to seek validation from my romantic relationship when I was old enough to be in one. I've had a couple of those; I got hurt, and I have no doubt that I hurt them as well; it's called being a human. It really took me a long time to realise that I've spent the bes
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My dairies as a big breasted representative in the Pink October Month.

October is here again. Drawing the necessary attention to create awareness for breast cancer. However, others perceive it as a time to feast their eyes and enjoy pleasurable views of bare-chested and braless women with stimulated and protruding nipples. I've always had big breasts. Right from my teenage days, when they started developing, my parents and everyone close to me knew that my breasts would stand out and be very prominent. Having big breasts has been a huge struggle; even though it is admired by many, it also welcomed stigma and physical and psychological challenges. The size and shape of an individual's breast rely solely on genetics and weight. The breast tissues can loosen due to factors like old age, lack of exercise, weight fluctuations and hormonal changes. Some people have collated the size and shapes of breasts below; Let's have a look. "Round — The breasts are equally full at the top and bottom. East-west — The right and left breasts go from the cent

The dirty dishes

Many children in the average Ghanaian houshold cannot escape house chores; some of which includes sweeping the compound, fetching water from the community vantage tap, sending the refuse to its respective dump, doing dishes, cleaning the hen coop, going into the bush with a cutlass and a jute sack to look for and cut grass for the goats' feeding, doing the laundry, among others; Or at least those were most of my chores as a child.  However, the chore I dreaded doing the most was to wash the dirty dishes. Being the perfectionist that I was as a child, cleaning the dishes would mean that I would have to spend a lot of time scraping and rinsing. Anytime I heard my mother call out my name to go and do the dishes, my fragile heart would skip a beat. I could sometimes shed a bucket of tears before beginning the process of doing the dishes. We didn't have a sink, so I usually used basins. Other times I would spend an awful amount of time wallowing and dreading of the thoughts of doing

Time NO Dey!

Time..... ⌚ Infinite, yet so limited. Abundant, yet so scarce. Free, yet so expensive. The concept of time is understood differently by different entities....  ⌚⌚ To the new born, it is an endless loop of tears, breast milk and sleep. But to it's mother, it is a seamless fabric of hope, because only time will reveal the days the child will sit, crawl, walk and eventually, run. Hope, to the sad and depressed, because "time heals all wounds".... or so they say. Too fast, at the same time, just enough for each exam candidate in an academic exam hall. ⌚⌚⌚ "How time flies, when you're having fun"... Indeed, the time actually flies to an unknown place. The young grows old, and the old dies. That's just the law of life. Time no dey! Do not waste the remaining of yours. Hence, My new piece.... Time no dey - 4:00 Release date : July 7, 2023. Lyrics and composition: Rama Blak, Obiri Tete Introduction: Akofena, Fapempong. Lead Vocals: Rama Blak, Obiri Tete Bac

Our little rathole.

I still remember the aura of our little old room; a rainy smell, mixed with the smell of burnt paper and some sunshine, which was always generous on our aluminium roofing sheets.  Mom and dad had freshly seperated and my sisters and I were still adjusting to not having our father at home. So mother rarely stayed indoors, she would often leave before cock's crow to struggle for her profits on the goods she distributed to various shops. She usually returned when we were asleep. I missed her always.  My mum, my sisters and I struggled to create space for sleep in the little room we occupied somewhere in the outskirts of the town. The room was too small to contain all the 'nkukusaka' of five females; yet that is what my mother could afford. She was still traumatized by the seperation and her feminine ego of independence will not recieve any kind of financial support from my father or anyone else. There was nothing to complain about; we had our daily three square meals, water to

Thoughts for thought.

I've been thinking. What other comforting news or systems have been put in place for those of us who hail from nothing, but the love of our parents and the little food and shelter they spent their entire lives to provide? 🎨🖌️ Apart from from luck, grace, working hard and smart, and self motivation which keeps us going, brings food to our table and keeps us alive, there is nothing like a trust fund, an inheritance, a secret savings account or an insurance that we can fall on, if things go south and grey. 🎨🖌️ Where I come from, your little achievements, comfort and happiness stimulates your family and friends into jealousy and raised eyebrows which will subsequently lead to a scheme to pull you down. 🎨🖌️ When you fall in love with a rich man, "you are in love with him because of his money". Your burdens and your family's burdens becomes his burden. He will eventually get tired and his love and respect for you will diminish. After all, "you're just a a bu

Dear old pipe

..... And there I was on my porch, rocking myself up and forth to the rhythm of an unknown melody. Unknown to myself and to the world. 🗑️ My gaze was fixed on the bridge that leads to my hut; while I smoked my pipe with the hopes that the fire I inhale will penetrate my lungs to my heart. Oh yes burn! 🗑️🗑️ Dear pipe whom I smoke, burn it all. Because every fibre of my heart has been murdered. Murdered by my own imaginations and the deeds of men; disrespect and betrayal.  Oh yes, burn it all!  🗑️🗑️🗑️ When it is well cremated, do not worry about the chars. They will escape through my pores and valves. Dear old pipe whom I smoke, burn it all. 🗑️🗑️🗑️🗑️