Growing Up To Be A Man At 30 Poem by Arnee Akpan

Dear growing grooming me;


Growing up to be a Man is like a dream sight of a sprouting flower,  
It grows with so much dreams like a budding seedling 
Hoping to tree the forest someday when the scorching  radiance bleeds from the sun's eye
But!  
The reality of being a Man, my ink shall watch my soul soil spill like a sperm that made you a Man. 


At age 1-5
You're treated all like a baby
Tenderly tendered like a plant still breathing its new air in the nursery;  
Your voice is at the brim of innocence
And everyone wants to get a kiss from those beautiful lips 
With painted coloring of "Wow!  He is such a cute boy".


At age 6-10,
Heaven knows your journey stares deep down into your very soul
Whispering whispers of dreams yet to be told by your future;  
At this stage, your father has blended the hard skin of his belt on your back for a first lash "whip whipped whipping "
Your eye bleeds rivers 
But!  
The only comfort you get is that of "Quiet"
Abigail; the girl you bully already echoes like the Grecian echo with laughter
And you're told to keep quiet else she would show her little rabbit like teeth more. 

 

At 11-15,
Kudos!  
You're almost there,  
You've started understanding gradually what pain bears in its fingers as ring
But!  
You can't let it out
Because  you also understand what crushes mean and how sweet it is to stare at Naomi's rear -
You are baptized in the seas of knowing that your kind is superior to the skirts 
So you push your opposite sex peers around like a swing. 

 

At 16-20,
You've probably finally convinced her to kiss you,  
Your lips no longer sings innocence rather the carnage of deceit crawls on the carcass of your tongue 
With each girl tripping to every sweet utter 
Still bearing in your mind that you young and wild 
So it's normal.

 

At 21-25,
Praise be unto your mighty self,
Gym to your statue,  
Weed to your lip,
No longer images but real sessions of Betty's bare admonishing your already grown weapon beneath those shorts,
One hand to it and the other to your phone - you drown in ecstasy
Not to forget your looks are still priority
And how well your pocket talks louder than your deep vocals is a goal.

 

At 26-30
Tick!  Tick!  
Says clock;
Tick!  Tick!  
What you have to do, do quick!  
The time has tock its love for you down here,
Calls flushing your battery,
Father calls to know if you finally cracked the zuma rock of success,
Mother calls to ask if you have crossed path with her like Niger and Benue meet -
Siblings call to say you promised new kits.

 

The truth about growing to be a Man at thirty 
Sleeps calmly behind the facts that every age comes with its frivolous gifts
But your ability to play this cards well proves how Manly you are. 
Being a Man does not rest in peace when thirty beckons on you,  
It only begins.