I don’t write as much poetry as I used to…probably because I am no longer as depressed as I used to be. A few years ago, I suffered some really bad spells and it seemed that the only way I could work my way out of them was to write how I felt…because sometimes I was literally incapable of speech.

In recent days however, my muse seems to have resigned from the poetry inspiration department and moved to short story writing…my muse is obviously unable to multi-task. Anyway, whenever I do write poetry, it is no longer the deep heart wrenching expression of loss and brokenness and greyness that I used to write…my poems are more..well…they’re just odd…I don’t mind though, I like discovering how my mind works.

So anyhow,  this is a poem I wrote about being an introvert…I think that it puzzles many of my friends and acquaintances that I can completely disconnect from the world around me and retreat to the relative safety of my room and the world in my laptop…my family just accepts that I’m cuckoo and gets on with it but anyway…here’s the poem

PS. I’m currently contemplating whether to publish a piece on body image that I wrote some days ago…it still needs some work I think… I’m also contemplating a piece on Nigeria and our seemingly incurable tribalism…but it will require research and any time I contemplate it, I get suddenly and overwhelmingly tired and open Bella Naija instead (I’m lazy like that)…anyway, both pieces should be up soon…and I think that they will both be quite interesting…and I must write about my karaoke experience…I’m getting tired again just thinking about all this creativity I’m supposed to express…

Anyway, enough dilly dallying…the poem:


I am not an extrovert; I am a socially proficient introvert

I interact not because I like to, but because I can

I have learned the art of conversation

Of meaningless sentences strung together to make a pleasant sounding thread

Just like white noise

I am not an extrovert; nothing wears me out more than people

With their pettiness and their drama and their lies

I have learned to listen but not absorb

To understand without accepting

To be present but not involved

I am not an extrovert; crowds bore me, people tire me

I do not wish to know who did what to whom on what day with which witnesses

I promise you, I do not care

Life is complicated enough without needing to puzzle out the details

Of everyone else’s drama.

I am an introvert; and that is why,

No matter how sweetly I smile,

Or how deeply I seem to listen,

Nothing pleases me more than curling up in my bed

With my books and my thoughts for company

I am an introvert; and so,

Despite how well I put words together

I would much rather write, or tweet

And free myself to expression,

Without the burden of interaction

I am an introvert; the chronicler of your stories

Watching from the side-lines, I’d rather not go on the stage

I’ll watch and talk and listen

And then eagerly rush home, to recount all I have seen and heard

To my patiently waiting computer

I apologize if I seem rude, or unconcerned or distant

It’s just that life is so much sweeter

Standing where I am

I love you very much, I promise I do

I am your friend, I promise I am

But allow me to be one, from way over here

Where I can love you, without having to talk to you

Thank you

English: Adult with fully protruded introvert ...

(This picture has nothing whatsoever to do with the piece…it’s a worm…)English: Adult with fully protruded introvert of the priapulid worm Halicryptus spinulosus (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


  1. Aha! Another great piece…ok, so you do poems also. A little too much for an introvert…lol. Live the dream…it’s in you. God bless you.

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