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WOUNDED POET

YAMKELANI QILO
WOUNDED POET by
YAMKELANI QILO
“I just finished it. Yes I did. I was smiling to a point
my room mates thought I’m talking to a guy. I’ve
been smiling because you served a third purpose,
you healed me. I hope others were healed too.
This is so beautiful, very clean and attractive and
heartwarming. Continue growing bigger than you
could imagine. I’m sending it to everyone I know
loves reading. This is what writing is about. I love
it so much.

_Sasa Lentsa.
 message for my readers.

Hey friends here I present to you my new book. I

know we are people of different cultures, beliefs,
religions and that we all hold different
perceptions(views) about everything, sometimes
we disagree and not see eye to eye but I hope that
this book though we all might have different
translation of what it’s all about. I hope it leaves
one thing in common in each and everyone of you,
love for one another.

We have settled to being defined using the

standards set by the society, for so long we have
allowed our lives to be determined by these
standards and often forget who we’re created to
be; others spend half and others all their lives
seeking to meet these standards
Our lives are chaotic because we are not in tune
with who we really are, we keep on searching for
light, while we’re burying our light, undermining
the one we possess. We want to have a lives like
others because we believe they’re better than us.
we were taught everything that we believe now. I
have hope that we can change everything we’ve
learnt and start seeing ourselves as sufficient
light and not seek light out side of ourselves.
“Books and doors are the same thing. You open
them, and you go through into another world.”

~Jeanette Winterson.
 PROLOGUE:

These are not only collections of poems I wrote,

but they are routes I travelled mapped out for
everyone to see. Paths to my past. footsteps to
my world, a world I once despised. Come walk
these paths with me, give me your hand and let
me direct you towards the steps leading to the
world I despised living in and see the conditions I
lived in; not for you to live in, but so you can see
where I was shaped into becoming this person
that you now see me as.

Life has been a journey I had to travel. A long one,

where sometimes I found treasures and at other
times I lost them. I’d fall and I’d rise. We are a
product of what we’ve seen and of what we’ve
heard. product of things we’ve accepted to
dominate our thinking.

Being nothing like the people you meet along the

journey you’ve had to travel to your destination
feels like a curse. they set fire for you, you’d think
they’ve made it for you to feel warm while they
push you in and watch you burn(by constantly
reminding you that you’re different). They watch
you burn into ashes. Until you begin to pray that it
would’ve been better if you were like them maybe
then they’d accept you as part of them.

Not being understood hurts the most when the

ones you thought would, don’t even show signs
that they trying. Those you imagined would be the
first ones to hold your hand when the world is
burning you down. Noticing that they’re part of the
crowds chanting, BURN!! BURN!! BURN. You’re
crying not because you’re burning but because of
disappointment from the people you’ve helped a
million times.

When they are casting stones at you laughing so

loud that the voices of others disappear and only
theirs are echoed in your mind as you remember
their laughs from the times you helped them out-
whenever they were happy you’d tell by the
giggles and now behind the crowds you seeing
how cute they look as they giggle and you’re
amazed at how do you still find their smiling cute
as they selling you out. Instead of shouting STOP,
they shouting, BURN and KILL! What kills you
before the stones are casted and before the fire
reaches you is hearing their voices, the
expectations you had.
CHAPTER I:
One morning I woke earlier than I usually did. I
thought of ways I’d communicate what I carried in
me for so long. To take off of my shoulders the
heavy load I carried. To help ease the pain I was
feeling.

After a while I took a pen and scribbled down

everything that was pulling me down I found. I
didn’t heal instantly but slowly the process began
as I withdrawn from the rest of the world. I spent
time exploring writing or rather writing was
exploring me because I opened up to writing; I
shown every part of my body without feeling
ashamed of how I looked. I understood that they
existed even though I wasn’t in love with how I
looked with them. but rather than finding comfort
in them I found more reasons to question and
criticize how I looked.
 2010,October,22
Eye(I)s
In their eyes I could see so clearly that they, they had
questions, questions which I also had, questions I
wished I had someone to ask too; I was burning on the
inside with anger, I was taught that there is a God. I
asked where is He? Was told to never question His
existence. Why shouldn’t I? when I’m trying to
understand the idea that He is a perfect God who
makes no mistakes, and if we are made in His image,
why are we being judged for being different if we are
made in the same image?
In whose image was I made from? When the world
struggles to accept me as I am.

Why do I look so different from men(boys my age then)

If his a man, why did he make a man so different from
other men?
This poem I wrote back in 2010, I was only 10 then; it is
the first poem I ever wrote. When the pressure was
starting to catch up with me when boys my age started
noticing that I was changing but differently from how
any one of them. My changes were different. I was
nothing like them. I was the only boy to have developed
breasts. I was ashamed as they shamed me for how I
looked, couldn’t even finish writing the word or
pronouncing it because I’d feel triggered. When they
saw these they just laughed and words for the first time
felt like swords, I was beginning to have questions. I
was made fun of.

Their voices would haunt me in my sleep. They were so

loud I wasn’t just haunted I was daunted too, these
voices felt like spirits, all over the house I’d hear these
laughs they made, there I would sit in the far corner of
my bed terrified, screaming. Yamkelani my mom would
yell it’s only a bad dream, she didn’t understand. It
wasn’t just a dream it was my reality; what I had to face
everyday. What caused me to begin questioning where I
belonged between the sexes in xx’s or in the xy’s this
was confusing, I was only a child then. how could I have
figured everything out.

The breasts I thought meant that I was a girl but I had

male genitals, this was not only confusing to me but to
my peers too. Too much to take in.

I chose to hide(withdraw) from all social interactions. I

lock myself in my room. Trying to gather strength for
the next day. Living to required strength to endure all
the pain. After locking the doors I’d open windows and
behind the curtains I’d look at how happy other kids
were. I’d cry myself to sleep. As a kid some days I would
brush it all away(all the negative comments they made)
in previous days and join their play even though I joined
with my head down like I was in worship.
I’d kick, scream, laugh and see the happy me- I loved
how it felt and how I looked when I was happy but it just
didn’t last long.

Some days I’d lie awake, tossing and turning all night
trying to figure ways to end the pain I felt, the
humiliation I faced. I was losing the power to hold on,
the strength to carry on with my life. Suicide crossed
my mind many times, the attempts were so outrageous
that I lost count. I’d self harm some days but nothing
seemed to ease the pain I felt. As many as the suicide
attempts were, I just couldn’t carry on with it my
conscious was so loud telling me not to. As someone
who’s born and raised in a Christian environment, I
couldn’t carry because I feared hell as much as I hated
living as much as the idea of a perfect God never sunk
in my mind but I feared to carry on- I feared hell more,
even though my life like hell already.
Seeing a man who looked like I did would’ve lessened
the pain a carried in me. Having no one who can relate
was emotionally draining. The thought of fighting a
battle nobody understood was too much. I battled and
belittled myself about how I looked and how do I begin
fighting two wars with no soldiers.

Daily I was getting mad, sad and/ angry. Some days all
these emotions would overpowered me. It was now a
norm seeing myself in any of those emotions, to top it
all up not even my parents took time to understand who
I was and they didn’t bother to check up on me- to see
how I was doing. If they didn’t say I’m dump they said I’m
weak; words do create ones reality if they have control
over ones mind, I hope I knew this then, I wouldn’t have
allowed them control over my life but sadly I didn’t. As
much as they words wounded me I let me ruin me they
are my parents after all so they know me better than I
do so whatever they see in me must be true.
I lost all love for life. Lost love for everything that
mattered in my life(I don’t think there was ever anything
I was passionate about) not living, not loving not
achieving anything( in my primary years I had the drive
to do better because there was someone who pushed
for my success mr Tom, he had the passion to see us
all doing better because of him and other teachers who
made sure they didn’t lose their record; we achieved
great things, anyone who went to DG COSSIE public
primary school can testify.

As most of us changed schools to high schools, that’s

where we lost it. I was beginning to feel the weight now
to be heavier than it was in primary we were growing,
starting to develop feelings for opposite genders. Now
with the expectation that we had to be players in order
to be seen and validated. Battling now not only
struggling to decide which gender I belonged. I started
to develop low self confidence.
When I struggled to find words to defend myself from
my own self, how do I tell these girls that this is how I
look, how do I begin to show them this is how I look.
When I can’t look myself in the mirror without being
ashamed of what I looked like.
The struggle continued. Then fear slowly crawled into
my mind. Now not only was I dealing with gender
confusion, low self esteem but now I had to deal with
fear too.

My parents instead of making me see the light buried in

me they carried shovels and buried me deeper. Their
words went giving me strength I needed. The
confidence to face the world and say boldly this is how I
look.

It was like I’m making it all up. It was as though I’m

seeking attention. I was wounded, I was bleeding.
Nobody cared to heal my wounds and stop the bleeding.
After all I was expected to be man enough and take all
pain and face the world. I guess I would have, if
someone managed to convince my mind that though I
looked different I wasn’t a soul trapped in a wrong body.
Their comments built beliefs which turned into walls no
one managed to crack nor break in- into my world and
see how I was trying to be everything I was expected to
be.
I guess they’re human too,
they’re a reflection of their past; maybe this is all they
ever knew, teaching them something new. Feels so
foreign to them they won’t understand.
They were treated this way, they weren’t made to feel
human when they were my age. They were killed and
buried too.

As much as I was feeling pain wanting to paint it all on

them I needed to also understand the conditions they
grew under, they carried the pain into adulthood it
turned into consuming fire, they are constantly battling
to stop the fire from burning too, they can’t it’s all they
knew. Trying to love a child is new. They need to be
taught too, there’s no guideline to perfect parenting;
they choose to use what they know.

As much as we’d like to feel their love, we should be

understanding that they’re struggling too, while we
complain that they aren’t good parents. They might be
dying inside with no one to run too. Now when we run
to them for love we find them running away.
We should try being lenient. The pain they cause us we
shouldn’t ignore it but in fixing it we should understand
they human too, they’re bound to make mistakes.

Bullying began because not even one in all the boys

was as shy as I was, I allowed it to carry on I believed I
couldn’t speak for myself, remember I was the one who
spent all of his days believing I had no power to
overcome anything.
I prayed so hard to be freed and in return I was preyed
on.

In thinking that I needed love and because I couldn’t get

it, I gave myself to anyone who came folding fists as
though they carried love as a gift to me, I was
vulnerable. Gave myself to people who didn’t treat me
right, people who saw no value in me. I tolerated
because I believed that’s all I amounted to.

When the hurt became unbearable. I closed my heart

from loving and from being loved, I feared rejection,
feared loving someone who would love me and stop
when they saw how I looked. What I hid. I would run
even from the honest ones(women who loved me who I
really was not how I physically looked) the people
struggling themselves as beautiful can confess nothing
feels so hard to achieve than people convincing you that
you’re beautiful and that you’re actually worth being
loved. Running away from love felt safe, I didn’t have to
overthink- thinking if the intentions are pure, having to
analyse everything people do.
I hid behind toxic masculinity, I believed to be a man I
had to be dominant, to be a control freak to make
women abide by my rules. I wasn’t heard for so long
when I tried voicing how hurt I was. I thought shouting
would prove that my voice can be loud enough for
everyone to hear. It was never about love for me but a
competition, one I couldn’t lose. I couldn’t face the pain
of loss; I was defensive.

Loving meant I was weak, giving all my powers away.

We can blame the women I loved first- the ones who

ran to ‘better men’, when I revealed myself to them.
After they begged me to put my trust in them and then
finally I would loosen up a bit and show them what
made other women run; they wouldn’t show any signs
I’d be stuck between thinking they understood or they
didn’t and everyone of them would prove me right,
they’d run too.

Why do I blame them when I also failed to see any

beauty in this?

When they’ve seen bodies that look better than mine

did, mine was different, why do I want them to believe
that I’m man enough when I’m failing to understand?
I wrote this poem when the pain of being different was
weighing down on me; when I was losing the battle in
my mind, when the bottle was getting full, I had to
understand where they come from seeing something
so different, so new to them.
Wrote it when,

The ones I gave true love, the ones who reminded me

that I wasn’t man enough. The ones who promised to
stay even when I begged them not to make promises,
the ones who said they’re real. they’d help and watch
me heal.

Now this is what I’ve become, women who come

seeking love, searching for light they see in me, I
always push them away. Thinking they’re also here to
shame and shade my light, that’s all I’ve known in my
life.

I didn’t know there was light in me, even if there was, I

didn’t think it’d be enough to bring light in someone’s
life. The only form light I knew I carried was the one
from the fire that was burning in me, from the flames it
made. I was fuming with anger. I knew I would burn all
of them down. Leave them bruised and ruined, even
when I let them go it was not because I wanted to, I was
hurting and I guess they saw I’d never let them soar but
I’d leave them sour(unable to look past the wounds I’d
leave them with) though I knew I needed a bit of light. I
knew I needed life- to awaken myself and be incontrol
of my life. the lamps they carried had the light I needed.
They came because they saw something in me I couldn’t
see.

They carried in them light, they couldn’t see.

I needed them as much as they needed me, the time
was the only obstacle we had to overcome(time to heal
and discover who we all are) we couldn’t have shared
any light at the time, all I could’ve to them were
insecurities I would have killed the little light they
carried.
we’d have just faced opposite directions and passed not
the lights but only darkness, madness and pain, that
would be the price to pay.
We’d burn each other down. I hope someday they’ll see
why I could not love them then.

Once I gained awareness that I was the one blocking

myself from receiving love, the picture became clear
that all I ever thought I needed was in me I had face the
hard truth, that I am to blame too, for allowing my mind
to believe all the lies I was fed, I was feeding myself.
Opening myself to be preyed on. Now that I know I
deserve love and can love. I will.

CHAPTER III:

I became everything I promised myself I’d never be I

focused my thinking on these things and as seeds
planted they grew. Everything that these men were. A
liar, a cheat and a manipulator. These are all learned
characteristics, I can still change not by chance but by
choice.

I voluntarily chose not to, I was obsessed with being

validated as a man.

In our black communities being man is measured by

how strong you are to feeling pain or let me say how
numb you are to pain and your physical strength
measures the respect you get. Both physical and
emotional strength are necessary for all humans to
have but when not well taught to the young it becomes
a burden on top of the burdens they carry. Thinking that
you’re not allowed to feel or to weak because you’re a
man we should be allowed to feel before we are men
we are humans too, and humans feel.

Men in generations before us failed to understand the

concepts they passed down either through religions,
cultures and beliefs. They were cowards to face the
reality that we’re all are emotional beings. To hide that
they hid and held on to the lies they convinced
themselves to be truths. Not knowing hiding from pain
was what killed their strength rather than overcoming
their emotions they hid them behind fists.

instead of teaching men how to open up and be

emotional while they overcame the power held by these
emotions over them rather they taught men to bottled
all emotions and not open up until the bottle burst with
all the pain and be aggressive beings,
these I believe to be the teachings they intended for
men to have because growing up boys are taught
nothing about solving conflicts with words, everything
had to be solved with fists and they’d feast about the
victory of the other while they mocked the one
defeated.
There are a lot of mistaken truth we hold in our minds
as men because we lacked men who stood against the
standards and break the cycle.

Now when these boys grow into men they do not have
other ways to resolve conflicts without fighting even if
the fight isn’t physical but the shouting and the anger
from all the pain they carried.

In Africa in particular any men who shows no signs of

what masculinity is, they immediately cast stones at
those they regarded outcasts.

If you showed any emotions you’re labelled, when you

don’t show any signs of masculinity you’re already seen
as gay.

Men still need to be taught how to be human before

being taught how to be men and to understand that
being different is okay, fitting in isn’t for every one of us.
We shouldn’t be stigmatized for how we physically built
before one actually gets the picture of who we really
are. Some like me were men in bodies they felt didn’t
make them men enough or some women because of
how they built they’re seen as not as a woman.

This causes some to question their sexuality as I did to

mine and only realize later on in life that they were fed
lies.

We can not see the beauty that dwells in us if we use all

the beliefs they set as mirrors to reflect who we are.

We are a result of all the genes we carry. Some defects

we carry are inherited. For us to break the chains that
they carry into the next generations we have to accept
them and change so they can no longer have the power
to kill the minds of the generation to come but so that
they may be at peace with how they look.
Not to fight the same battles we fought(to be accepted)

this body,
feels so cold,
is filled with no joy.
I try to break free I’m in bondage.
can’t be freed from this prison I live in.

this body,
is a war that I’m losing.
I find no peace in it, nothing to be proud of; I’m better of
dying than suffering.

I tried living but I feel like it’s only my soul that’s

pushing, my body needs motivation before moving,
going out with friends I have convince myself so hard
that I’m capable and I’m not different.
For a minute my mind would believe that but
immediately when I’m around people. My mind would
replay all the scenes that made me feel less. I’d begin
to feel as though everyone sees what I’m seeing in me
and I’d run to my hiding place(my room and it felt like I
was some sort of an addict, my room was an antidote;
the cravings to hide would ease a little)
went back to crying.

This poem I wrote when meeting people was a hard

thing to do.

To those who see no light in themselves. Your light is

buried in your soul, seek and you shall find.

To those struggling to see beauty in how they look, your

body is a result of the thinking going on in your mind if
your beliefs about yourself are all negative then your
whole life will be a mess.
Take control and keep your thoughts in captivity be the
one to dictate what you’re thinking and not defined and
controlled by your thoughts.

TRANSFORMATION

“A man must find time for himself. Time is what we spend our
lives with. If we are not careful we find others spending it for
us. It is necessary now and then for a man to go away by
himself and experience loneliness; to sit on a rock in the forest
and to ask of himself,’who am I, and where have I been, and
where am I going?’... if one is not careful, one allows diversions
to take up one’s time- the stuff of life”.

~Carl Sandburg
 CHAPTER IV:

In 2019 late september I sat in my room; as I always did

finding more reasons why every one else except me
deserved to be punished for how my life turned out to
be, I had all the reasons to. Something in me would
show me how I was also part of the problem. Other
family members and friends would show me the need
to change, I would just tell myself “they just don’t
understand what I’m going through”, while I was pitying
myself I didn’t see I was killing myself.

This blame game is taught to us at an early age. If a

child trips and fall the parents have to pretend to
punish somebody else, so we grow with mentality that
if we get hurt someone has to take the blame for it and
we do not learn how to be accountable.

As much as we choose being ignorant to the way we

groom our kids we’re actually setting them up for
failure- we will always shy away from taking
accountability for our actions.

As I sat going on and on about everyone who hurt and

humiliated me the voice I usually heard was so loud
that I couldn’t avoid, I turned on light; took a paper, I
began to write everything I thought was the cause of my
heartaches and pain. I broke into tears, I remembered a
man doesn’t cry, I wiped off the tears which were
running down my cheeks.
I continued writing, trying to connect the dots, the key
question I held in my mind what is/are the key cause(s).
why everyone seemed to be happier than I was,
stronger than I was. couldn’t figure things out at the
time.

I wanted to break free and soar into greater

heights(happiness, joy & excitement) but I guess my
wings were not well formed I’d fly so high so once I
reached these heights I’d fall back down. I began to
believe that I shouldn’t try again, I believed I’d fail again.

Falling and failing wasn’t new thing to me I knew I’d fail;

like I always did.

Buried the faith that was beginning to bloom in my life.

I relapsed; had to start all over again, didn’t find the
strength to start all over again

then I wrote this poem,

I know.
How broken I am.
I knew,
 I’d repeat the cycle; it was all just a wish, and like
dreams my wishes never come true. I thought I was
through this stage, this was just another phase of the
same stage,
the same page.

I know

How much I pushed myself to try. All of that now

sounded like a lie.
I knew I was a failure. didn’t need
another one, this one felt like the first one.

Like I’m hit by a train, the pain is unbearable.

I try being man enough to endure the pain, I wish I

hadn’t tried. Some things are better left unchanged.
I just can’t prove them all wrong.
Now it’s four years later I see why I failed the first time
I tried to find peace and to handle the pain. It was
because I didn’t want to admit I needed to change, I was
also part of the problem and that I didn’t want to stay
committed to change. I wanted a quick fix. There is no
easier way to deal with change than enduring the pain
that came with the commitment to be different.
I had to set myself free from myself first before I could
be able to free myself from all the chains of others.

I am still work in process but progress is seen little by

little I’m pushing, beginning to see the glimpse of light,
that was hidden inside of me.

“love your neighbour as you love yourself,”how we love

others mirrors exactly how much we love ourselves.

I am learning to be me- the greatest loss I suffered was

losing me. While the greatest reward I’m getting
currently is knowing where to find, the grave- where I
buried myself and knowing that I can still speak life
unto them.

Finding me now means I have to be cautious of pushing

myself away into hiding again. Understanding that some
days, I will miss my hiding place, some days I will run
from nothing because for so long I’ve been running. I
will be superstitious. Some days I’ll choose pain over
happiness.

Understanding that we’re all broken or were all broken,

is one of the truths we require to heal and gain better
understanding why someone reacts a certain way to
certain circumstances.
Some people like me shout, because for too long their
voices weren’t heard unless they shouted. They were
not listened to, until we show one another where our
wounds are we won’t heal.
Most relationships end because no one wants to admit
that we’re broken pieces not because we don’t
understand love, but because we took how we were
treated by people we taught loved us. Now love seems
far fetched. We allowed ourselves no time to heal and
deal with our toxic traits.

If only we would take time and introspect to change the

victim mindset we are bound to continue falling.

Love never changed and love never fails. You may say
but it does. No it doesn’t but the people you loved failed
to love because their perception of love like yours was
based on their past.

The first step is learning to love ones self to understand

every aspect of your life, you may find that the things
you thought attracted you in people aren’t really what
you attracted to but what you thought everyone else
loved so you’d be seen as someone who fitted in.
The fear of loneliness can lead us into friendships and
relationships where there’s no connection and as time
goes we learn the hard way that it wasn’t really made to
be. When one of you discovers that you weren’t what
they needed. The relationships ends and everyone else
blames love, when in actual fact we are the ones failing
love.
Love never changed, it never will change. It can only be
seen in ones actions it’s not a sermon to be preached.
If we looked at the actions we’d have all the evidence
we need to either walk away or stay.

Sometimes we meet broken pieces in people which

need no mending, which only need to be accepted and
cherished but because we’ve tried to hard to be
perfectionists we try to fix things which do not need
fixing.
Relationships don’t only fail because of past romantic
relationships but also from toxic upbringing, abuse and
at times losing a loved one can damage someone so
bad that they start having fear of being too close to
someone because they’re fear loving them to hard only
to lose them to death or to another, love is based on
perceptions(how we see the world, through religion or
culture) we are loving how we think we should, loving
who we think we should and we loving when we think
we should.

To understand that is to understand that we are to meet

people with different world views or perceptions
instead of trying to change them into what you need you
should accept them as they are.

That we give you understanding that when perceptions

clash arguments will arise but they shouldn’t turn into
conflicts.
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Metadata

Title: The poetic

Edda
Author: Henry Info
Adams https://viaf.org/viaf/5294877/
Bellows
(1885–
1939)
File 2024-05-
generation 04
date: 10:27:49
UTC
Language: English
Original [1923]
publication
date:

Encoding
The foot-notes in the source, which are linked to line-
numbers, have been moved to the end of each chapter.

Revision History
2024-03-18 Started.

Corrections
The following 46 corrections have been applied to the
text:

Page Source Correction Edit

distance
N.A.,
84,
246,
314,
373,
421, [Not in
572 source] . 1
15,
19 lacunae lacunæ 2
19 Gniparhellir Gnipahellir 1
58 “ [Deleted] 1
84 encyclopedic encyclopædic 1
99, Hlok Hlokk 1
99
121 stan a stanza 1
129 characterised characterized 1
143 s as 1
216,
324, [Not in
429 source] ” 1
225 Smaland Småland 1/0
227 detroyed destroyed 1
253 folk tales folk-tales 1
274 Hjorvath’s Hjorvarth’s 1
291 Hundingbane Hundingsbane 1
306 Spornvitnir Sporvitnir 1
307 Hynduljoth Hyndluljoth 1
310,
559,
560,
572,
572,
577,
579 . , 1
312,
313,
330,
538 , . 1
326 work word 1
359 be he 1
404 vengance vengeance 1
433 vengence vengeance 1
511 ” [Deleted] 1
532 Line 4 may [Deleted] 24
 be spurious.
568 Haddings - Haddings’-
Hero Hero 1
571 Hrīm″-gerth- Hrīm″-gerth-
a-mǭl′ ar-mǭl′ 1
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