Trials Of A Teenager

Best Served With: Easy by Mac Ayres.


Image result for flower bloom

Stop. Breathe. Think.

You’re a basic student in school,

With a dark uniform that stands still,

Beside mediocre grades and friends, careless and cool.

While fate and fortune dictate your will.


You began as an infant,

Whether pink, yellow, brown or black,

Sprawling helplessly like an earthworm,

While life prepared to attack.


At that age with a simplistic cycle,

You stumbled through the beginning,

You knew nothing, and lacked desire to know,

Your sin was emptiness.

Your wall; ignorance.


With time a flower bud opened;

To the knowledge of life; brightness of day,

And with friend’s and family’s support,

Eased into a world of comfort.



Then came anxiety, baring its fangs,

Its teeth poisonous, its breath stank,

A wall of predation, it consumes and confiscates

Leaving in its wake, changes and deadlines and academics and—



Peer Pressure seeps in. Friendly as always,

An acidic wall of suggestion you can’t refuse,

An idea becomes a shout; a shout, a chant.

And slowly you do things you don’t want,

Like that one party you hated,

Or those old friends you spoke to with hatred,

Till you look in the mirror and scowl at the person you’ve become.


I know what it’s like to be yo–

Actually I am you.

As I am everyone

And everyone struggles just like you.


So Start. Live. Act.

Because you may just be a basic student in school,

With a dark uniform that stands still.

But fate is fleeting; fortune untrue.

And only you can dictate your will.



Best Served With: Amen by Falz


Image result for corrupt pastor

Humanity spends its life buying hope,

Deducing and detecting supreme will,

Wide-eyed, white-eyed-higher-than-man man,

Instructing ants on how to cope;

How to make heaven. Convenient.

How even though He made us in His image,

Through our self-righteous pilgrimage,

He looks like us in our thoughts and dreams,

But none of us have ever seen Him.


Salvaging everything, our saving grace,

Like capitalism or insurance,

His thought train condensed in a single place,

His presence the ultimate assurance.


Is your landlord harassing you?

Are your colleagues salivating your downfall?

Is your despair the world’s benefit?

Does your life seem derelict?


Come to Him,

My brothers and sisters,

The Lord has seen your sins and he will forgive them all.

Come to church

Looking for a mister,

The Lord surpasses that dread of downfall,

For “you reap what you sow” does not apply to all.





In fact, as I preach to this congregation,

A gentleman sits at the back,

Having killed his mother in swift elation,

Seeks salvation from his will to attack

That beautiful lady in the third row,

The public used her body for extra green,

Now that death’s scythe is inches from her brow,

Her diseased garments seek solution from a higher being.


I, Myself have impregnated an extra-marital affair,

I refuse to marry this result of the devil,

And she currently strides to my house; inferior and unfair,

She hath opened her legs only to be swindled.

As Despair grips her broken, luscious mumbles,

She aims to set my house alight,

And while my wife and kids against carbon struggle,

Here I am, preaching about the good fight.


But at least I’m better than you;

I dare to tell myself the truth.

Though you “Amen”, kneel and dance your sense away,

Your heart is corrupted,

And this lifestyle you’ve adopted,

Infects your house every single day.


Monday, you’re monopolising a multitude,

Making many a mind miserable,

Your mouth a makeshift moat of platitudes,

Muffled mumblings moaning to the less able.



Tuesday ties tiles of titillation,

Your tits tell teasing tales of his forbidden touch,

And while your tantalising marriage tends you at home

Tis not enough; appeal lacking as such

To tether your tumultuous tendencies,

As you toggle his trembling torch of temptation.


Wedding Wednesday to a wandering woe,

wondering whether Wanda and Walter,

walk and whisper your wheezing wilts,

warlock Pride worries; wakes the start.

The walls of the whining walnut whipped apart.


Thursday. Tottering Thursday.

Tickling theriomorphism turns tears turbulent,

Though Timothy teaches to turn away from sin,

You tumble totally; unsalvageable it seems,

But terrifying turning point tussles to redeem.


For image, glamour, glory or ties,

The world you fake your face; yourself you tell lies.


Friday’s following a faith foundation,

Forcing farces on faces with feverish fervour,

Finding failed fillings to falsify,

As fake feelings relish the flavour.


So Saturday’s sad sorrows sing

singed solutions showing

shoved sororities of sin,

Saying “slithering snakes shed

soothing songs of salvation”.


But on Sunday you change.

None of it shows;

Not the monopoly of Monday,

The tangled titillation of Tuesday

The wary worryings of Wednesday

The tickling tinges of Thursday

The forced falsification on Friday

The sorrowful sinning of Saturday—

None of it.


No. Because it is His day.

Righteousness pumps your veins when you wake up,

Your mind’s dysfunction transforms to make up,

Wear luxury to shun your neighbours,

Smallest iniquities turn major:


You want to get sober and sombre for Sunday,

It all must be done His way,

Your clothes, car, house and husband,

But His way, to you, is as solid as sand.


Everything you do on that day must be perfect,

But the reality is you don’t digest.

Don’t treat His veins as worth it,

Every other day an indulgent sinner,

On Sunday a prosperous prophet.


May the Lord bless us as we sin with men and women,

And may we bless His Name till we get money,

He always forgives so sin again and again.

In Jesus’s Mighty Name we have prayed, Amen.


black and white cemetery christ church

Photo by Pixabay on

The Journey Begins

To my future readers,

Hi. My name is Abbah Abbah (yes first AND surname are the same). If you’ve reeled from your shock and/or laughter at that then know that I am an aspiring writer/poet. I started this site because I’m passionate about writing and I want to share that with others. I want others to feel something from my work. I take writing very seriously and I look forward to growing with you all. If you have any criticisms, suggestions, ideas or if you just want to tell me what a good job I’m doing then feel free to comment or contact me at my email below. To maximize your enjoyment of my poems, I will be using a “best served” system. Essentially, every poem will have a “best served with ….” attached to it, which is just a recommendation of the best song to listen to while reading the poem so watch out for that. For this, I’d say listen to the first minute of the song and then start reading the poem. Thanks for your future support and I promise you will not be bored. Don’t forget to Like, Comment and Follow. For anything else, contact me at

PS: I do not own any of the pictures or songs posted on this website. I source them from google or youtube.

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton