My world really revolves around the beauty of disarray.
Often called madness, I prefer to term it “organized chaos”.
I live day to day trying to make sense of it all, why everything turns out the way it often does has always been a marvel to me.
But is it supposed to make sense?
Are we supposed to understand?
Maybe the fact that I can see this supposed shift in the balance of how everyone thinks things are supposed to be, puts me on a higher echelon in my mind, then I guess the fact that I can’t seem to make sense of it is what keeps me human, and at times, sane.
I’ve been called arrogant by a few, full of shit by someone else (I love you too Oyé).
I prefer to point out that I see myself the way I would like to, and more to the point,the way I am. Not how the rest of society would have me percieve myself.
I’m a maverick, a non conformist. Call it what you will.
It’s all a matter of perspective.
Why am I writing when I should be studying?
I’ve begun to believe that a portion of my soul resides at the tips of my fingers,
And the only way that portion finds release is when I write.
The way of the flying pen is the path I’ve chosen to follow.
Location : Ogun,
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