The Girl I Call She - By Olutayo Oluwaseyifunmi

Written By: Olutayo Oluwaseyifunmi

Category: Spoken-word poem

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Olutayo Oluwaseyifunmi presents "The Girl I Call She," a spoken-word poem that delves into the complexities of identity and emotional resilience. Known in the literary world as "The Girl I call She," Olutayo's work resonates deeply with themes of self-discovery and acceptance amidst societal pressures. Hailing from unspecified origins, Olutayo's contribution stands out in the spoken-word category, offering a raw and introspective look at personal growth and vulnerability.

About the Work

"The Girl I Call She" captures the essence of a world fraught with contradictions, where societal expectations clash with personal truths. Through vivid imagery and poignant reflections, Olutayo Oluwaseyifunmi unravels the narrative of a young girl navigating love, loss, and self-acceptance. The poem's emotive tone and introspective style invite readers to ponder the nature of true love and the courage it takes to embrace one's authentic self, scars and all.

The Girl I call She

Original Submission by Olutayo Oluwaseyifunmi

Title: The Girl I Call She

In a world filled with corrupt people,

everyone is striving for perfection.

A world of ups and downs

where somehow,

you are still expected to come out on top. In a world filled with good people,

sometimes the bad ones

still get the applause.

A world infected with kosowo syndrome— where everybody wants to look like they have arrived, even when their pockets are begging for a way home. A world that tells you,

“You are you,”

while judging you for being exactly that. A world of eyes that stare,

mouths that whisper,

and people who know your story

better than you do.

A world where darkness

has learnt how to dress itself beautifully.

And somehow,

you brought light into mine.

In a world drowning in lust,

you gave me love.

In a world obsessed with perfection,

you looked at my flaws

and still chose me.

Every scar.

Every blemish.

Every part of me

I had carefully taught myself to hide.

You saw them.

And somehow,

you didn't run.

But perhaps

I should start from the beginning.

Because my eyes tell a different story.

Probably pain.

My mouth tells another,

whatever you people want to hear.

My face says,

“She's happy.”

And I have perfected the smile so well

that nobody notices

the thousands of tears

standing behind it.

My behaviour says:

Hyperactive.

She's playful.

She's a happy kid.

But what exactly

do you expect a child carrying too much to look like?

Quiet?

Broken?

Maybe I learnt early

that pain doesn't always scream. Sometimes,

pain laughs too loudly.

Sometimes it talks too much.

Sometimes it jokes at the wrong time. Sometimes it becomes the life of the room because silence gives the memories too much space to breathe.

She is a child

who gets triggered by almost everything because almost everything

reminds her of something.

A child whose past

still reeks of disgust.

A child who grew up

trying to understand love

without ever really being taught

what it was supposed to feel like. And then,

she experienced it.

Once.

Sorry.

Four times.

Four times she thought,

maybe this is it.

Four times she allowed herself

to become soft.

Four times she handed someone the pieces of herself

she had spent years protecting.

And four times,

she lost something.

Sometimes the person.

Sometimes herself.

So now she stands here,

laughing a little too loudly,

loving a little too carefully,

pretending she doesn't care

when she cares about everything. She tells herself

she has finally run out of chances. Maybe love was never meant to find her twice.

Maybe she is simply

too complicated to be loved. Too much.

Too emotional.

Too damaged.

Too human.

But I wonder,

who taught her

that broken things

are not worthy of being held? Who told her

that a person has to be untouched to deserve tenderness?

Who convinced her

that because love left four times, it cannot knock again?

Because perhaps

she isn't lost.

Perhaps she is just tired

of looking for herself

in people who never knew

how to hold her.

Perhaps she isn't hard to love. Perhaps she has only been loved by people who didn't know

what to do with something

so real.

And perhaps

the little girl she keeps calling she has been waiting all this time for someone to finally say:

You don't have to be happy today. You don't have to pretend.

You don't have to earn love

by becoming easier to love. So if you see her laughing,

don't assume she has no pain. If you see her smiling,

don't assume she has healed. If she talks too much,

don't assume she has nothing to hide.

Sometimes the loudest person in the room is simply trying to drown out

the things screaming inside her.

And if you ask me

who she is,

I could give you a thousand descriptions. The happy girl.

The complicated girl.

The girl with too many scars.

The girl who loves too deeply.

The girl who keeps losing

what she desperately wants to keep. The girl who is still learning

that being loved

shouldn't feel like surviving.

But the truth is,

I have been speaking about her

as though she is someone else

because it hurts less that way.

She is the child I protect.

She is the woman I am becoming. She is every smile

I used to hide a tear.

She is every “I'm fine”

that was actually a cry for help.

She is every version of me

I thought I had to bury

to become lovable.

So no,

she isn't lost.

She is here.

Bruised, Confused, Loving, Learning. Still hoping.

Still stupid enough to believe

that somewhere in this ridiculous world, love can be more than lust,

kindness can be more than a transaction, and someone can look at all her scars and not ask her to hide them.

Maybe life really is a dice.

Maybe sometimes

you throw the wrong numbers.

Maybe sometimes

you lose four games in a row.

But perhaps the beauty of the game is that you are still allowed

to roll again.

So if you ask me

who she is,

I'll stop pretending. I'm she.

She's me.

And maybe,

for the first time, I'm learning

to love her too. ~Reniwrites ��

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform celebrating literary talents worldwide. The competition invites writers to share their unique voices and stories across various categories, fostering a global community of creativity and expression. Participants showcase their work, contributing to a diverse tapestry of contemporary literature.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Olutayo Oluwaseyifunmi for sharing "The Girl I Call She" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your powerful words and introspective insights have enriched our understanding of love and identity. Thank you for your contribution, and we look forward to witnessing your literary journey.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.