About The Blogger 

Betty Udo is a young Nigerian creative writer and content contributor who is most passionate about poetry and inspiring the people around her in the way she can. 

She has written one book, Eyes of Eden. A collection of 12 poems that is currently available online. She is a content contributor for various sites and is studying at the University of Uyo. 

Realistic, deep, can be funny and loves her jollof rice, pounded yam and afang soup all very much. 
Twitter : @IamBettyUdo

Instagram : @iambettyudo

Email : bettyudooriginal@gmail.com


Second First Time 

I finally had sex for the first time again. He moved fast, I felt nothing. He moved slow, I felt nothing. He looked into my eyes, I went blind.  I listened to him tip over without me, not that I cared. I was too busy talking to the sky.

He placed a kiss to my shoulder, called me baby, and rolled over next to me. I realized at this point how unlucky I was. 

I don’t regret it though neither do I regret never calling back. I deleted his number later because I don’t care less about him or his tomato and pepper love.
Running into the cold woods bare feet and naked, that’s what it felt like. His body on mine, no rhythm, no love, no lust even. Obviously, he’s not for me, and I don’t fit in by his side either. Two assholes do not make a right. 
Mind you I said yes. We weren’t drunk or high, but incase we do this again, let’s use that for an excuse. Nobody must know I did this shit sober.
I missed the scene where I reach the climax… Obviously, I must be a background actor. He’s the protagonist. Too bad life is not porn, it’s not all about you and your dick.
Excuse my language but I’ll be gone now. I’m sure I have better things to do.


You cannot run from the night.

It sticks to you

Like paper and glue

To a white plain wall. 

The white plain wall 

Is your mind. 
It paints its footsteps on your skin

Like pain that cannot be forgotten.

Tearing your good times to shreds

Creeping in and infecting you

Like cancer with no cure. 
You slowly fade, diminish

Till you’re nothing but a speck of dust. 
The night,

 it chases you between trees.

Into a forest of thorns.

You stagger around, groping for hope 

Till you bleed, till you’re tired,

Sunrise is too far away.
Lay still, let the night cover you. 

It is impossible to deny.

Childish and useless to hide.


There is no story to tell

Well, no long story.

Just a few words because I can’t seem to perfectly describe my heart beat.

I know it kicks up when I smell you around

Or when you brush me.

Then goose bumps when you say my name

Or hold me. 

Its like simple magic.

No. Complicated yet blissful magic. 

A comfortable feeling. 

I’m not sure. 

I cannot forget how you took me

And my heart, all by surprise.
I was attracted.

 I never expected love as such. 

You pulled me in with careful grace. 

Deep feelings grew

with no true reasons for why.
 I grew and suffered in and for your love.
I can  taste now 

how bad you were for me

But back then you tasted like mint and sweet chocolate

Still I love you anyway 

now even more than yesterday.

Back On Track

Journal of the beautiful is back up and on track. I’ll be posting poetry, stories, rants and sometimes, the weird happenings of the day. 

Hear my soul speak through these words. 

Don’t forget to comment, follow and share. Much love.

King Jaja 

I hear my brother open the gate from the room I

share with my mummy. I run to the parlour to see

who it is, its Uncle Bassey. My father’s friend, he’s

fair and old. Grey hair growing on his face. He has

a big stomach and he’s wearing pink. I run out to

greet him and he smiles at me, I smile back even

though my brother says I don’t know how to.

‘Mummy Bishop. Let her keep me company na.

She can bring her books’

When I hear that, I run inside and bring my books

ready to teach like Aunty Joy from my class. I

drop the books and run back inside for a stool to

sit down on.

But he says to me, ‘come sit on my lap.’ I don’t

know why even when there’s a stool already but i

do as I’m told. I become a teacher telling him all

about Quantitative Reasoning. I feel my pink shorts

shifting slowly, I can’t speak or scream.

‘Continue reading.’ This time, I read to him the

story of King Jaja.

‘So king jaja-‘ A gasp of surprise cuts me off as

my panties are shifted aside too. My spirits

screams at me to run but my body is glued to his


‘Jaja was sent-‘ He’s taking advantage of me,

holding me steady on his lap. I’m not even 8 years

old yet. I know its wrong. His fingers begin to

move, back and forth like he is sawing through

wood. He thinks I like it but I’m praying that

mummy calls my name.

I feel the need to pee, a chance to run.

‘Shift the stool and pee.’ He says holding my hand.

Again, I do as I’m told. In front of him.

I’m back on his lap again.

‘But-‘ I’m cut off by his fingers in my mouth. Its

getting darker, I’m getting dizzy.

Then NEPA arrives and see the dark figures of my

favourite brother and my mother moving around in

the parlor.

‘Let me go and keep my books. I’ll come back’ I

start to get down but his hands are holding me in


‘Uncle please! I’ll come back. Uncle!’

He let’s go after another quick touch and pull at

where my mummy says no one should touch.

I run into the house and she asks me what we

talked about.

‘King Jaja of Opobo’

The Only Colour In Her Life Were Her Clothes


Heartbroken and lost she was. She walked around carefully like the ground was made of hot coals. Quiet and scared of being pushed to the wall once more, with no space to walk away from what she knows will kill her. 

She spends her time in the silence with the echoes of her sobs. With every passing minute she wished her heart would stop and she could feel nothing any more.

If only an evil fairy would grant her wish. If only she could sleep. If only she could sleep and never wake up. Too many wishes, stolen coins in the well. 

Everyday was the same. The same routine. Never forgot to get from bed dragging around like a zombie. Never forgot to eat, never forgot to wound her skin with the scalding water. Never forgot to desperately try to scrub away her pain. Never forgot to roam the streets with an unlit cigarette hanging off the corner of her lips. As much as she wanted to go, she was afraid of leaving.

And then one day, she left the house. Blue shorts and a yellow crop top. Pink converse and an orange beanie. She wasn’t colour blind, bright mismatched colours was the only thing that made her shine on the outside as she walked, a deep contrast to the black hole which was once her heart. She crossed the road to get her cigarettes.

She never got to the other side of the road. A car as bright as her clothes granted her wish.

Slow And Steady Wins The Race

Every night, he tip toes to her room slowly and quietly, cunning like the little tortise with evil intentions. 

He opens her door slowly, careful not to make a creak or any sound at all. Then he closes the door behind me, watches her movement with his eyes. As she turns and arranges her gown. 

For 6 days, he’s being doing this. On the 7th day, he’s ready. He takes off his shirt on puts on the chair. Like a ninja, he walks steathily to her bed which is covered in pink floral sheets. 

Not a surprise.

He taps her. No response. Another tap. No response. He squeezes her strawberry light-skinned thighs. This wakes her up. 

‘Hey. Sarah, how are you?’ He whispers coming off as the nice guy he’s always been. 

‘What are(yawn)…’ Her voice is groggy and tired. 

‘Ssh!’ He gently pushes her back down unto the bed. Bringing his finger to his pink lips signalling for her to keep quiet. 

Like a scripted act, she slowly goes back to a lying position and he slips back, takes off the sweatpants which doubles as pyjama pants for him. 

Revealing a naked body. Her eyes widen in shock and she fists up her clothes in fear and crawls up into a ball to protect her self. 

‘Just calm. It won’t hurt yeah?’ 

He climbed onto the bed as usual slowly.

‘Please, Uncle Henry! Ple-‘ Her pleads were cut off by a rough hand over her mouth. 

And slowly he took away her joy.

They Thought He Was Gay

He had shiny black hair and had very bright yellow skin. His beard was dyed a light blue and everybody looked at him strange. I could hear the whispers from the self made holy and righteous people. I saw the judging look on the old people’s faces. I saw the ‘OMG’ on the faces of the little girls who were playing with bottle covers in front of a shop.

A man walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, he looked bold and not a hint of fear on his face. And before I could scream the man has punched him square in the face. 

    ‘Faggot!’ He screamed. ‘Gay fool!’ And a crowd gathered. A carpenter brought wood. A mechanic brought a tire. A shop keeper brought matches and boy who sold kerosene on the black market brought the dangerous liquid.

The gave him no time to speak. He was beaten up and roasted like a chicken.